Shepherds
by Tulip Proudfoot
Summary: COMPLETE: The Ring awakes after long years in Bilbo’s keeping. He yearns for adventure, but what to do about the 22 year old Frodo who is dependant upon him?
1. Visitors

Title: Shepherds  
  
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, various others  
  
Rating: G  
  
Synopsis: The Ring awakes after long years in Bilbo's keeping. He yearns for adventure, but what to do about the 22 year old Frodo who is dependant upon him?  
  
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Chapter 1: Visitors  
  
The spectacular roses and salmons of another perfect summer's day faded into early twilight blues and purples. Frodo had been excused from his after-dinner chores. It was only fair, considering he had cooked the evening meal that night and it passed his Uncle's high standards for culinary expertise. There was a family reputation to maintain, and Bilbo made sure his nephew would carry on that tradition in the style reflecting their family's high social status and great material wealth.  
  
Frodo was free to enjoy himself as he pleased for the moment while Bilbo finished washing up the dishes. The day had been beautiful. All warm and hazy at mid-day, then hot by mid-afternoon, as it should have been at this time of year. The evening brought a freshening breeze from the West, blowing in a slight coolness which was most welcome. The Gamgees, Hamfast and his youngest son, Samwise, had been gardening all day in the front flower beds at Bag End. Father and son had returned to their home tired, but satisfied. Now the fruits of their labors rested in the soft twilight. Luminescent nicotiana was just opening its buds to greet the waning moon's soft light. Their sweet scent stole through the open leaded glass windows at Bag End, bringing their heady aroma into Frodo's bedroom.  
  
The handsome younger bachelor hobbit of Bag End sprawled across his bed, head facing the footboard. A lone candle atop the cedar chest at the foot of the bed illuminated a loosely-bound book the lad was reading. He had read this private book time and time again and never seemed to tire of its familiar words and phrases. "There and Back Again" by Bilbo Baggins. It was Frodo's favorite book. At age twenty-two he was an unusually well-educated young hobbit who could not only read and write in the Common Tongue, but also knew passable Elvish. He could even translate a smattering of difficult dwarvish, given access to his uncle's runes dictionary. He had learned by heart sections of some of the great Elvish epic poems and stories, and could give detailed accounts of the history of the Shire. But time and time again he returned to the well-worn, thumb-eared handmade book telling the story of his uncle's extraordinary adventure. It never failed to capture his imagination, and frequently filled him with the urge to experience life outside the sheltered existence of Bag End in the solid, but bland region known as the Shire.  
  
Bang! Bang! Bang!  
  
Frodo's reading was rudely interrupted. It sounded as if someone was trying to knock in the front door!  
  
Bang! Bang!  
  
Frodo leapt up from his revelry and ran to the entranceway. Still holding the book, he threw open the round green door to find that his story had evidently come to life before his startled eyes. There, in the very same doorway as described in the book, stood three fierce-looking dwarves with deadly-looking weapons.  
  
"Well? What'er you gaping at?" the closest and fiercest-looking dwarf growled. His white beard and hair glowed faintly in the moonlight. But it was the sharp two-sided axe in his gnarled fist which held Frodo's attention.  
  
Frodo realized he had been standing in the doorway with one hand on the central doorknob, the other holding the book, and his mouth wide open. "Oh!" Frodo managed to gulp out, "Please pardon my rudeness."  
  
The white-haired dwarf chuckled slightly. "I shall if you can tell me if this is the residence of Master Thief Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?"  
  
"Thief? Why... why, yes it is," Frodo stammered. "Please do come in." He gestured them to step inside. "Whom may I say is calling?"  
  
"Oin, son of Toin at your service." The first dwarf bowed and then stepped over the mantle. He shrugged off a heavy backpack and placed his two-sided axe on top of a pile forming in the hallway.  
  
"Khamin, son of Thangel." The second dwarf bowed and entered. His thick, matted red beard reached below his knees. He also had a pack and axe, which joined the pile on the neatly-swept cool tile floor.  
  
"Loin Bonecleaver, son of Din the Elder," replied the third and youngest dwarf. His hair was jet black and he carried a harp along with his pack and two smaller axes secured to his intricately carved belt.  
  
Frodo bowed deeply to his guests and put his book on the side table. "Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo and cousin to Bilbo, at your service, good sirs." He showed them into the formal parlor just off the front entrance hallway. "I shall go and get my Uncle Bilbo. Please, make yourselves comfortable." Frodo politely backed out of the parlor, then fled to the kitchen as quickly as his feet could take him.  
  
"Well? Who was it?" Bilbo absentmindedly asked while putting away the last of the clean crockery.  
  
Frodo gulped. "There are... there are three dwarves asking for you, Bilbo. Asking for the Master Thief, just like in your book!"  
  
"Oh, botheration," Bilbo whipped off his apron and threw it across the table. "I do hope Gandalf has not chosen now to restart my former career." Bilbo headed towards the front of the smial, then suddenly stopped and turned. Frodo almost bumped into him in his haste to keep pace. "Frodo, be a good lad and fetch us all a mug of beer." Bilbo frowned slightly. "Better use the good crystal goblets."  
  
"For beer?" Frodo asked in confusion.  
  
Bilbo smiled. "I'll let you in on a little secret. Dwarves will think any old draft is the finest ale in Middle Earth as long as you can impress them with fancy dishes. Now, be quick about it."  
  
Frodo returned to the kitchen for the formal stemware. He picked up four, then, seizing his opportunity, added a fifth one for himself. He quickly went into the cellar. Tapping the keg as quickly as he could without causing the beer to over-foam, he hurriedly walked to the front parlor, balancing two crystal goblets in one hand, two in the other, and the fifth between the rest.  
  
The three dwarves were comfortably settled into the oversized parlor chairs, their traveling cloaks, packs, weapons and musical instruments safely stored in the hallway. Bilbo was already deep into conversation with the trio as Frodo entered the room and presented their guests with the cool beers. He seated himself on the fireplace hearth, as all the chairs were already occupied.  
  
"Ah! The rumors of your rich and thoughtful hospitality are true!" Oin exclaimed. He raised his goblet in a toast. "To your continued wealth and long life, Mister Bagggins. May your nimble fingers never fail to find their intended target, and may your sword always remain as sharp as your legendary wit."  
  
"Here! Here!" Khamin and Loin echoed.  
  
Frodo smiled and also raised his goblet.  
  
"And to a successful venture for you all, " Bilbo rejoined. "May your beards grow long and full. May your coffers overflow. And may your journey ultimately lead you to safe harbor." He turned to Frodo and whispered, "Bring in the chesses and breads. Oh, and the left-over chicken and apple tarts, too. Use the good silver and plates."  
  
Frodo nodded slightly, put his beer down on the hearthstone and ran off to do his uncle's bidding. He was dying to be allowed to stay and listen in on the news from outside the Shire. But politeness in offering your guests refreshments came first. He soon returned to the parlor with the foodstuffs and Bag End's finest gold-rimmed plates and silverware.  
  
Bilbo was talking. "... but I can provide you with a map to the Lonely Mountain." Bilbo motioned Frodo to retake his seat at the fireplace and listen in to the talk while the dwarves availed themselves of the food. "I made one after our adventures with Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf and company. I can copy it out for you tonight. It will show you the safest route through the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood Forest. There are plenty of dangers along the way, but if you follow my suggestions and keep to the marked paths, you will increase your chances of arriving at the Kingdom under the Mountain safely."  
  
"With all our hearts, we thank you," Khamin said as he admired the gold-rimmed platter holding one remaining chicken leg. "But is there another halfling thief you could recommend which we might hire? Thorin Oakenshield and King Dain only achieved what they did with the help of a halfling thief. Even though our tales of that adventure minimize your assistance, we can read between the lines, so to say, and want to increase our chances of success."  
  
"Hobbit," Bilbo corrected. "We prefer to be called hobbits, please."  
  
"A thousand pardons, my most excellent host," Khamin rose and bowed low, then resumed his seat.  
  
"I do not think there is another hobbit who would be willing to travel outside the Shire, much less all the way to the Lonely Mountain and then travel all the way back by himself," Bilbo diplomatically replied. Frodo started to open his mouth, but Bilbo quickly shot him a look which made him shut it immediately. "And besides," Bilbo continued, "you are not on an expedition which requires the services of a professional thief, if I understand your intentions correctly. You simply need a guide, or a good map in order to successfully reach the Lonely Mountain and avoid the known dangers along the way. Correct?"  
  
"Yes, you have the gist of it," Oin grunted. "But we would feel luckier with a hobbit along, just to be safe. One never knows when one is going to need an extra pair of hands and a stout heart whilst traveling this journey. And having a hobbit in the party certainly helps if you run afoul the Elves."  
  
"True, true," Loin nodded his agreement. "And times are worse than when you last traveled the great East Road, Master Baggins. Orcs freely wander the countryside, with the exception of a few well-tended areas such as your pleasant little farming country. Orcs and much more dangerous, if you catch my drift."  
  
"In deed, I do not," Bilbo replied. "We have heard no tales of orcs roaming the countryside around the Shire. The last goblins I ran into were from the Misty Mountains, well over a fortnight's journey from here. Then again, that was quite a few years ago, and times may be changing."  
  
"They are," Khamin said, "and not for the better. We come from the Ered Luin, or Blue Mountains as they are known here. The kingdom of Belegost under the mountains. But our folk are dwindling. Most of our distant kinfolk removed themselves from Belegost and Nogrod to Khazad-dum during the Second Age. But some stayed behind at Belegost. Now there are too few dwarves to properly defend the realm. Orcs have infiltrated Ered Luin, coming from Mirkwood and points South."  
  
"We would like to join up with our cousins at Erebor under the Lonely Mountain," Oin continued. "For mutual safety, you understand. We can no longer keep at bay the growing threat of evil which assails us from the South."  
  
"The South?" Bilbo questioned. "I always heard that the Shadow was headquartered in the East. Somewhere in Mirkwood. Has this changed?"  
  
"Quite a few years ago," Oin politely belched, then continued. "The Necromancer was driven out of his stronghold in Dol Guldur about fifty years ago. At the same time Thorin Oakenshield and your estimable self went on your adventure. Rumor has it that your own Gandalf and some high-born Elves were the ones which drove the Dark Lord out of Mirkwood."  
  
"But they did not engage the Nameless One in battle, or cause him much grief," Loin snorted. "Typical Elf tactic. Overly cautious. Wait and see. Do not engage the enemy on his land. Ha! If Gandalf had asked the dwarves to take care of the Necromancer, the Dark Lord wouldn't have survived to regroup in Mordor!"  
  
"He's in Mordor?" Frodo whispered.  
  
"Aye, lad," Oin frowned. "Back in his stronghold of Barad-dur. And he's rebuilding all the defenses again. Gathering all sorts of evil unto himself. Despite what my foolish and terribly young cousin here might think," Oin shot a withering glance at Loin, "the Great Deceiver is more powerful now than ever. He grows bold in his rebuilding, and there is none now to stop him. Neither dwarves, nor Elves, nor Men. Nor hobbits, evidently."  
  
Bilbo sat back in his chair, took out his pipe, and proceeded to light it.  
  
"His spies roam freely throughout the countryside," Khamin said, "Our own lands are now under infrequent, but decidedly vicious attack by these new Southern orcs." He spat at the word.  
  
"But why hasn't Gondor or King Balin of Khazad-dum seen to stopping these raids?" Bilbo asked. "The orcs would have to pass through or near Moria to reach the Blue Mountains."  
  
"There is no word from Moria," Oin sighed. "Twice we have sent messengers there. Twice now no one returns. Either the messengers were ambushed on their way to the great realm, or they were unable to convince the King to lend aide. Moria is a mystery. It is closed to us. That is why we look now to the Kingdom of Erebor under the Lonely Mountain. We three must reach it at all costs. You see, we are the third and final group of messengers to be sent out from besieged Belegost. Now you understand why we need the services of a thief. A halfling ... sorry ... a hobbit of the Shire. So we may have the same good fortune as King Dain and Thorin Oakenshield."  
  
"Frodo," Bilbo quietly said, "be a good lad and fetch us another round of beers."  
  
Frodo was extremely reluctant to miss out on more conversation, but politely did as he was bid. He gathered the five goblets and ran to the cellar. He could hear the conversation start up again as he left the parlor. The voices faded as he went out of earshot. In his impatience, he tapped the keg too quickly, causing foam to spill over on the first draw. Silently cursing his impatience, Frodo slowed down and finished drawing the beers without further delay. He scampered back as quickly as he could. He wasn't watching his steps and stumbled on one of the packs stored in the hallway. Beer spilled onto the floor. Frodo mentally cursed himself again, this rime for his clumsiness, and put the fancy crystal goblets down on the floor. He could just make out the words coming from the parlor as he got on his hands and knees to wipe up the spill with his handkerchief. He gathered the goblets and was about to enter the parlor when something Bilbo was saying made him draw up short and eavesdrop.  
  
"Well, if it was just me, I would be more than willing to drop everything and join in with your little group," Bilbo said. "But as you can see, my circumstances have changed considerably since my last adventure. I have to think of the lad first now. He has no father or mother, and is far too young to take on such a dangerous journey."  
  
"But you just said your heart has been set on traveling again." Frodo thought it was Khamin speaking. "That you are restless and unhappy being cooped up here in your Shire. Doesn't the lad have a relative he could stay with until you return?"  
  
"That's the whole point," Bilbo replied. "I probably will NOT return. I may not look it, but I am quite old, my good sir. And if I leave the Shire, it will be to never return."  
  
"The leave the lad with a relative and come with us, Mister Baggins."  
  
Frodo noticed he could see into the parlor by looking into the hallway mirror. Loin was speaking. "We need your services. We would pay you handsomely. And I'm sure the lad will be fine staying with a different Aunt or Uncle."  
  
"No," Bilbo gestured emphatically with his pipe. "I will not leave Frodo to be ignored by the Brandybucks again. Or the Tooks. Stars! That would ruin whatever education I've given him. And that leaves the Sackville-Bagginses. I would rather jump into a raging river than send him there! Somehow this journey of yours does not feel right to me." Frodo could see Bilbo lean forward, his hand reaching into his vest pocket. "Yes, I am restless. Something is nagging at me. Making me want to travel again." Bilbo sat back and took his empty hand out of his pocket. "But this journey doesn't seem right for me, or for Frodo. I will not leave him behind."  
  
"I could come with you."  
  
Frodo stood in the doorway; five full goblets in his hands. All conversation abruptly stopped as everyone realized what had been overheard.  
  
Oin cleared his throat. "Ah hmmm .... Yes ... We could take both of you along."  
  
"Absolutely not!" Bilbo stood and stomped his foot on the polished wooden floor. "I've had one adventure which ended in the death of several dwarves and Men of Dale, not to mention Thorin Oakenshield himself being killed in battle. And I almost died several times if not for my quickness and extreme good fortune. Frodo, adventures are dangerous in the best of times and fool-hearty under these circumstances. Something unexpected always comes along, and usually not for the best." He turned to Oin. "Neither Frodo nor I will be joining you on this journey, and that is final!"  
  
There was an awkward silence as the three dwarves frowned upon their clearly-upset host. After a moment, Frodo timidly handed each guest their beers, then resumed his place seated by the fireside. Bilbo sat down again and tapped out his pipe. Loin sighed.  
  
"Is your offer of the map still good?" Oin quietly asked.  
  
Bilbo nodded. "It is the best I can do, my good sirs."  
  
"Then we give you thanks and offer what we can for your generosity," Oin replied, climbing out of his chair and disappearing into the hallway. In a moment he returned with a small leather sack. The sack jingled with the sound of coins clinking together.  
  
"No, no," Bilbo protested. "I am well off. There is no need for payment."  
  
"But a worker must be paid his wages," Khamin said. "And all business transactions are honorable and just."  
  
"Name your price for the map," Loin demanded. "We are not beggars. It would dishonor us if we do not pay." He sat back and crossed his arms in displeasure.  
  
"Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo quietly asked.  
  
"Yes, Frodo?"  
  
"Could we trade the map for a song?" Frodo asked. He turned to the dark-haired younger dwarf. "I would dearly love to hear you play on your golden harp, sir."  
  
Bilbo and Oin smiled at each other.  
  
"All right then," the elder hobbit said. "I shall provide you a copy of the map as long as songs are sung and tales told while I am doing the work. Agreed?"  
  
"Agreed," Oin smiled. 


	2. Maps

Chapter 2: Maps  
  
The map was completed at just after midnight. Frodo received hours of songs and tales, the likes of which he had never heard. Tales of whole underground nations complete with cities, factories and mines. Of the lust of powerful rings, sparkling jewels and precious metals in the earth. The danger and thrill of mining close to a river of molten rock. Of wonderful craftsmanship and cunning puzzles carved into the secret places of mountains. Toys and dolls made in the images of people, which came to life for their maker and proved his undoing. How the most famous harper of the Kingdom of Norgost learned his craft from one of the water spirits, and chose blindness so he could focus all his harping skills on the gift of music without visual distractions. Of dragons whose breath was death and silken voice a web of deceit worse than any weapon made by hands. Of battles over ancient realms and kings descended from the very earth itself.  
  
Bilbo's book of adventures lay forgotten on the hallway side table. Frodo dreamed that night of strange music echoing in the deep, dark caverns filled with rubies, sapphires and gold.  
  
By the time Frodo awoke the next morning, the sun was high in the sky and the dwarves had already left. There was some leftover breakfast awaiting him on the kitchen table, and a pot of lukewarm tea under the cozy. But Bilbo was not inside Bag End either. Frodo poured himself some of the tepid tea and headed out into the front gardens to find his Uncle.  
  
"Morning young Master Baggins," Hamfast Gamgee called out as Frodo closed the front door.  
  
"Good morning, Mister Gamgee," Frodo replied. "Have you seen Uncle Bilbo this morning?"  
  
The gardener paused in his task of transplanting day lilies. "Well now, I passed him early on this morning. He was leaving with your guests. They was headed off towards Bywater, from the look of it."  
  
Frodo shoved his mug of tea into the startled gardener's hands and took off running down Bag End Row towards the main road. He was almost to the Bywater cut off when he saw his uncle plodding towards him. Frodo pulled up short to catch his ragged breath.  
  
Bilbo carried his walking stick and was wearing his ancient slightly-too-large blue dwarvish cloak. He was fingering something in his waistcoat pocket and seemed distracted as he hiked up the hill back towards his home. He barely acknowledged his nephew as he passed by.  
  
"Come along, Frodo," was all he said. He was frowning.  
  
Frodo fell in step slightly behind his guardian as they climbed the hill. There was nothing to say, but he wanted to ask so many questions. They walked through the old familiar front gate, up the worn stone steps and past the busy gardener. Mr. Gamgee pointedly tipped his cap to the elder Baggins, then silently handed Frodo his tea mug.  
  
The two went into the cool smial. Bilbo put away his walking stick and cloak and motioned Frodo to join him in the parlor. Bilbo sat down in his favorite easy chair and pulled out a plain gold ring from his waistcoat pocket.  
  
"Sit down, Frodo," he commanded.  
  
For a long time the two sat in silence; Frodo watching his uncle absentmindedly toying with his gold ring. Frodo has seen it a few times before and knew first-hand of its magical power to make one disappear. Bilbo had shown him once when he was in a playful mood, but soon became very distracted and jealously put it away. Now he sat in his old comfortable chair and rolled it around in the palm of his hand.  
  
"Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo broke the silence.  
  
Bilbo shook his head, sighed, and slipped the ring back into his pocket. "Yes, Frodo?"  
  
"Why didn't you go with them?" Frodo asked. "I can tell you wanted to."  
  
Bilbo sighed again and rubbed his eyes. "I will not lie to you, Frodo. I was tempted to go with them. There are many reasons why I chose to remain here. The most important reason is you, my boy."  
  
"I could have gone with you," Frodo protested. "I'm twenty-two; almost twenty-three! That's old enough for some lads to start their apprenticeships away from home. Look at Samwise Gamgee. He's only ten and his dad already has him gardening with him some afternoons. The Tooks let their children travel by themselves when they are eighteen!"  
  
"Neither you nor I are fools like the Tooks, even if we are related to them," Bilbo replied. "I was fifty when I had my adventure. Fifty is a far cry from twenty-two. You are far too young for this sort of danger. And dangerous this trip certainly is. Make no mistake about that. More dangerous than you can imagine. Those dwarves will probably not survive to reach the Lonely Mountain."  
  
"Well then, if you didn't want to take me along, why didn't you go and leave me here?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Is that what you thought I did?" Bilbo questioned.  
  
Frodo nodded his head. "When I woke up this morning and found you were gone ... well ..." Frodo blushed and looked at his feet. "I can see how restless you are. How you don't want to be here with me. Like I'm trapping you. Why didn't you go with them."  
  
Bilbo got out of his chair and made Frodo stand up and look him in the eye. "Frodo, you are not trapping me here in Bag End. I don't know if you can understand this or not, but something in my heart tells me the time is not right. I wish Gandalf was here. Then we could ask his advice. But he's not, so I must rely on my own judgment for good or ill in this matter. I managed to stay alive through my adventure by listening to what my heart tells me is good and true. And for some reason, I believe this trip would end in disaster should either you or I go." Bilbo placed his hands upon Frodo's shoulders. "It is far more important that I remain here at Bag End and concentrate on raising the most promising young hobbit the Baggins family has ever produced. Probably the finest hobbit in the Shire."  
  
"Well, certainly the most over-protected one," Frodo sank back into his chair and started kicking his feet in frustration. "I'm never going to have my own adventure. And you're going to end up resenting me for tying you down to this sleepy old smial where nothing exciting ever happens." Frodo's face went red with embarrassment.  
  
Bilbo smiled at his impatient nephew. "Oh, I wouldn't say nothing exciting ever happens at Bag End."  
  
Frodo looked up sideways at his uncle.  
  
"Didn't we just host three fierce dwarves here last night?" Bilbo said as he sat back in his chair. "Now, I ask you, name one other hobbit family who welcomes guests from outside the Shire."  
  
Frodo thought for a moment. "The Thain hosts Gandalf sometimes. So does Uncle Rory at Brandy Hall. And some of the Big Folk from Bree used to stay with us at the Hall before Mom and Dad died. See? There are lots and lots of hobbits who have adventures."  
  
Bilbo cocked an eyebrow. "Lots and lots?"  
  
Frodo looked at the rug at his feet. "Well, maybe not lots and lots. But there are some." Frodo looked directly at Bilbo. "Why can't we have an adventure? Just the two of us? Do some exploring?"  
  
"Where in the Shire would you like to go?" Bilbo smiled.  
  
"Not IN the Shire." Frodo got to his feet and looked out the window. He could see the familiar landmarks. The Water glinting silver in the distance. The Hill, all grass and wildflower covered and lush in the summertime heat. The Party Field with its magnificent Party Tree in full dark green leaf. The neat little houses and farms of the area. "Not in the Shire. Somewhere outside the Shire. Somewhere where there aren't any hobbits! Somewhere from stories or history. Maybe go see the Elves or the Kings of Men!"  
  
Bilbo chucked at Frodo's enthusiasm. Frodo had evidently inherited the Tookish wanderlust which also ran in Bilbo's veins. "Lofty ideas, but Elves and Kings are a bit out of our reach. There are Big Folk in Bree. I would not be adverse to taking you to Bree if you want to learn about Men."  
  
Frodo turned around, disappointment clearly written in his blue eyes. "Not Bree, Uncle Bilbo. I've met those Men at Brandy Hall when they come in to do some trading or to sell things. Those Men aren't like the ones in your histories. I want to meet the noble Men from the West. The Numenorians."  
  
Bilbo shook his head. "Frodo, I hate to disappoint you, but that line of Men no longer exists up here in the Northern reaches of Middle Earth. I think the last King of Arnor died well over a thousand years ago. There might be a few scattered groups of their descendants left, but we will not meet them."  
  
"Then could we go see where the old Kings used to live?" Frodo asked. "Norbury?"  
  
Bilbo got out of his chair and motioned for Frodo to follow him into his study. They went over to the map still lying atop Bilbo's writing desk. Bilbo found the Great East/West Road and followed a faint line Northwards from Bree. At the terminus of the road, a small circle with the word 'Fornost' indicated what once was a city.  
  
"What we know as Norbury was titled Fornost in the ancient tongues of Men," Bilbo pointed to the spot on the map. "Frodo, that place is many days walk away. It is far north of Bree. See? Even farther north than Chetwood. It's all the way to the end of Deadman's Dike. It's all ruins anyway. That's why it's called Deadman's Dike and not the King's Highway. Why would you want to go see a bunch of fallen-down stones?"  
  
"It's history," Frodo said. "The Shire's history, too. Everybody's always saying 'When the King returns,' but they don't really believe a King will actually show up one day. And I just want to go exploring a little. Like ... well, like your adventure with the dwarves and the dragon. Except not as dangerous! Not me. But I would like to see some of the lands outside the Shire. You've taken me on overnight trips before. Couldn't we go somewhere just outside the Shire? Please? There is nothing much to do around here right now. Not until harvest, anyway. And we haven't been on any trips for a long time. Please, Uncle Bilbo?"  
  
Bilbo smiled. "Well, I am not adverse to taking a little walking trip right now. But going all the way to Norbury is quite out of the question. You heard what the dwarves said about goblins and orcs roaming the wilds again. However, we might take a look at something a bit closer and probably safer. And far older than even Norbury, if one believes the ancient tales." Bilbo grinned slightly and winked.  
  
"Elvish tales? Are we going to Rivendell?" Frodo could hardly contain himself.  
  
"Mercy, lad. No," Bilbo straightened up. "Rivendell is even farther than Norbury. And I wasn't thinking about Elvish tales, either. There are ancient tales from the dawning of Mankind which are quite as interesting as Elvish tales."  
  
"Mankind?" Frodo blinked. "As in Numenorians from the First Age? Near the Shire? Where could that be? I thought the Numenorians landed in the south near Gondor."  
  
Bilbo retrieved one of the storage tubes leaning against the corner bookcase and pulled out a velour scroll tied up with a red ribbon. He carefully unrolled it on top of the map already on the desk, placing small books on the four corners to keep the scroll in place. He pointed to the center of the map. "Here's Hobbiton. Here's Bag End. Look east and follow the Great Road and you find the Brandywine River."  
  
"Yes, yes," Frodo interrupted. "We've been to Buckland plenty of times. I can go to Buckland anytime, day or night, either following the road or cutting across country. I know that path well enough. There's nothing ancient or exciting about Buckland."  
  
"Ah, yes, my impatient boy," Bilbo continued. "But follow along with me. See the Brandywine Bridge here? Well, instead of crossing it and going east to visit our cousins, follow the line of the river north. See how it comes close to the White Downs and then takes a switchback to the west?"  
  
Frodo followed along as Bilbo traced the path with his finger. "Yes. It goes into these hills. Emyn Uial."  
  
"Which is Elvish for ..." Bilbo prompted.  
  
Frodo thought for a second. "Hills of Dusk?"  
  
"Close enough," Bilbo said. "Twilight or, more poetically, Evendim. The source of the Brandywine is Lake Evendim, nestled between the two branches of the Emyn Uial."  
  
"We're going to a lake?" Frodo made a face. "I thought you said we were going to visit some ancient ruins built by Men."  
  
"Ah, my young lad. You should have paid more attention to my history lessons from a few years back," Bilbo said as he sat down.  
  
"I did!" Frodo protested. "But give me a clue, Uncle Bilbo. I know it's not Norbury, otherwise known as Fornost. And it certainly is not Angmar."  
  
"Very good," Bilbo grunted. "I see you were paying some attention after all. But go further back in time, my boy. Beyond Angmar. Fornost was the last capital of the Kings of Arnor. But they had another city of some magnificence before the fall of Sauron and the disaster of Gladden fields."  
  
"Bilbo, isn't that's way back in the First Age?" Frodo questioned.  
  
"No, not quite that far back in time," Bilbo said. "Before the King of Arnor held court in Norbury he ruled from a city called Annuminas on the shores of Lake Evendim. It's barely indicated on my map. See there? That little mark. Not much to go by, and I am afraid this map is not terribly accurate about places north of the Shire. But we could go try to find the ruins of Annuminas, if any are still left standing. Instead of following the Brandywine though, we can cut cross Shire back country and reach it much faster. It's almost due north of Hobbiton. I traveled up to the foothills of the Emyn Uial in my youth with my father. They are past Scary. Past the North Farthing. We shall have to cross into the highlands and go across the hills where the Emyn Uial's southern hills meet its western hills, and hope to find a pass down into the lake area." Bilbo became lost in memories. He absentmindedly began fingering the ring in his pocket.  
  
Frodo could hardly contain himself. A real adventure! And with Bilbo! "Wonderful! Let's go tomorrow!"  
  
Bilbo laughed and tucked the ring safely away. "Extended trips are not to be taken lightly. We need to do a bit of planning and preparation if we are going to be gone that long."  
  
"You took off on your adventure without even taking your handkerchief or staff or a cloak, if what you wrote in the book is true," Frodo smiled.  
  
"True enough," Bilbo chuckled. "Just like you did this morning. We are most alike in some ways; you and I." He suddenly became serious. "But I was young and foolish and had the help of twelve stout and sturdy dwarves and one extremely intelligent Wizard to make up for my lack of experience. The two of us will need to carefully plan this little adventure if we are to not only succeed in finding the lost city of Annuminas, but get back in one piece. I've never been farther north than the start of the foothills. And my map is sketchy about those lands, at best. But we could do a bit of exploring, if you have your heart set on it." 


	3. Classes

Chapter 3: Classes   
  
"Sam! Sam! SamSamSamSamSam!" Frodo cried out in his excitement. The younger hobbit was walking up the hill from his house to Bag End, carrying his father's lunch in a basket. Frodo ran up to the brown-haired lad and circled around his best friend. "Guess what? Guess what?"  
  
Sam stopped in his tracks. He had never seen Frodo so excited. "What, Master Frodo?" the ten-year-old grinned.  
  
"I am going on an adventure!" Frodo bragged. "A real, honest-to-goodness adventure! And Uncle Bilbo is taking me! Isn't it exciting?"  
  
Sam blinked in surprise. "Where? Where are you going?"  
  
"We're going to find a lost city of the Numenorians," Frodo said.  
  
"Are those Elves? Can I come too?" Sam shyly asked. Master Bilbo had started including Sam on Frodo's history lessons, and the youngest son of Hamfast and Bell Gamgee had quickly developed a strange longing to see the Elves.  
  
"No, silly," Frodo admonished. "They're Men. And no, you can't come with us. This is just for Uncle Bilbo and me."  
  
Frodo took the basket from Sam and the two walked up the hill to Bag End. The more Sam thought about Master Frodo and Master Bilbo going on a real adventure, the more excited he became.  
  
"Why can't I go too? I could carry something for you," Sam said as he skipped up to the garden gate. "Like, your extra food, or a blanket, or pots and pans, or, well. whatever you want me to carry. I'm strong. I wouldn't be much trouble. Honest!"  
  
"You don't even know where we're going or how long we're going to be away," Frodo laughed as Sam opened the gate. "But I bet we could have some good fun if we ever did go on an adventure together. We could go see the Elves in Rivendell someday!"  
  
Sam's father heard their conversation, stopped his digging, and frowned. "Samwise!"  
  
Sam came to a dead halt. "Yes, Da?"  
  
"Why is young Master Baggins carrying your basket?" Hamfast scowled. "Remember you place, son."  
  
"Oh!" Sam squeaked out. He grabbed the basket from Frodo and backed up a couple of steps. "I'm . I'm sorry Master Frodo. I just forgot."  
  
"But . It was my fault, Mister Gamgee," Frodo blushed and put his now-empty hands in his pocket. "I ."  
  
"Now, young Master Baggins," Hamfast interrupted, "Don't go making excuses for something me boy should know quite well by now. I know you and Samwise are friends and all, but we all must remember our places." Sam quietly walked over to stand slightly behind his father. "And I'll ask you to not be puttin' no notions into young Samwise's head about adventures, if you please. 'Taint natural for a Gamgee to even think about goin' off and leavin' his rightful place. Book learnin' is right and good for them what can afford it. But I'll thank you, good Master, if you don't go tempting me boy with stories about places he'll never see anyhow."  
  
Frodo's face was brick red from embarrassment at the predicament he had caused his friend. Frodo knew that Hamfast Gamgee disapproved of Bilbo teaching Sam to read and write, but he had never heard the normally taciturn gardener lecture him about the social differences between their families. Frodo looked up the path and saw Bilbo standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a frown equal to Mr. Gamgee's. Frodo sighed and lowered his head. "Yes, sir.," he choked out to Hamfast.  
  
"I think that will do for today, Mister Gamgee," Bilbo nodded to his gardener as he walked down to stand behind Frodo, one hand resting on Frodo's shoulder. Sam was quietly crying now; the tears leaving shiny tracks as they slipped down his dusty face. "I shall see you later tonight at the Green Dragon as usual, yes?"  
  
"Yes sir, Mister Baggins." Hamfast tipped his hat, picked up his garden utensils and took Sam by the hand. "Come along, Samwise."  
  
Sam took one long look at Frodo, sighed, and went with his father. They walked through the little garden gate and down the dirt road towards their house, never looking back. Frodo and Bilbo watched them until they disappeared around the corner.  
  
"Come inside, Frodo," was all Bilbo said.  
  
When they were inside the kitchen, Frodo could no longer hold back. "All I did was carry his basket!" he cried.  
  
"You carrying Sam's basket is not the problem," Bilbo said as he set the kitchen table for lunch, "and you know it. Mister Gamgee's right about you putting foolish notions into young Samwise's head about adventures and fairy tales and such. You weren't thinking when you were encouraging him to think about such things."  
  
"What's wrong with daydreaming about Sam and I going on an adventure together someday?" Frodo protested.  
  
"Sam and me," Bilbo automatically corrected. "And what's wrong is that Sam will never go on any sort of adventure. Not now. Not in the future. And it's wrong for you to encourage him to think that he ever will." Bilbo poured some milk for the two of them and sat down. Frodo sat across the table.  
  
"But why?" Frodo frowned. "Why can't Sam have his own adventure?"  
  
"Because of who he is," Bilbo replied in a neutral tone. "We've been over this before." This was a hard lesson for Frodo. Bilbo had discussed the various classes of hobbit society with Frodo repeatedly, but the boy didn't want to learn this particular lesson. It wasn't that he deliberately tried to cross class boundaries, but he frequently, and conveniently in Bilbo's opinion, forgot them. "Sam is being trained as a gardener. His father is a gardener. The whole Gamgee family are working class hobbits who cannot afford the luxury of one of their sons going off on adventures. And it is not fair for you to make Samwise think he can do so. Now, I don't want to hear any more of your complaints about how unfair this all is. It is the way it is, and nothing is going to change that."  
  
"I wish I had a magic ring that would make it change," Frodo muttered, toying with the food on his plate.  
  
"Now that's complete and utter nonsense," Bilbo replied. "There is no all- powerful magic ring which can make the world into what you want it to be. You have to live in this world and get along with your neighbors without the help of this mythical ring. So you better get used to the idea, Frodo Baggins."  
  
"Can't Mister Gamgee at least let Sam have fun thinking about adventures?" Frodo asked. "All he does is work him. Like - like a mule or a pony!"  
  
"Mister Gamgee can raise his boy as he sees fit," Bilbo replied. "It is not our place to criticize how a person raises their own child."  
  
"Plenty of people criticize how you're raising me," Frodo countered.  
  
Bilbo interrupted his eating to raise an eyebrow at his rather forward nephew. "Do tell."  
  
Frodo shifted uncomfortably under his Uncle's gaze. There was no backing out of it since he had brought it up. "Well . Mistress Weatherby doesn't like the fact that there's no female here."  
  
Both Bilbo's eyebrows climbed higher at that statement.  
  
"I overheard her saying so to Mistress Underhill last time we were at market," Frodo confessed. "And I know Aunt Lobelia and Uncle Otho don't like it that you brought me here from Buckland in the first place. They're always telling me that Lotho is supposed to be your favorite, not me, and I should go back to the wildlands where I belong. That I'm not proper Hobbiton born and raised."  
  
Bilbo set his fork and knife aside. "Your coming to live here with me is none of their business, Frodo. What matters to me is that you are happy. That is the ONLY thing which matters. That, and giving you a good, solid education. Now, forget about the nasty things your Aunt and Uncle have said. They are simply jealous.  
  
"As to female companionship . well, now, that is my business and none of the Hobbiton gossip crowd's concern. Those old biddies have been after me for years to marry one of their lot, and now they think they have a new justification to use against me choosing bachelorhood. Don't you pay them any attention. As I said before, it is not our place to criticize how another raises their child, and we should never interfere."  
  
"You are teaching Sam how to read and write," Frodo shot back.  
  
"With Master Gamgee's approval, I point out to you," Bilbo said. "Though you may have jeopardized even that." Bilbo stopped eating. "Frodo, I have been trying to talk Mister Gamgee into teaching his children to read and write for well-nigh twenty years or so. I tried to talk him into letting Hamson or Halfred learn, but Hamfast was dead set against it. 'Not the Gamgee's place, that booklearnin' he said to me. I finally convinced him that it would make his own business dealings easier if he had a child who could do the paperwork for him instead of having me do all the reading, writing and math. He's only now allowing his youngest to learn, and I was hoping to be allowed to teach young Marigold as well when she grows up. Don't you go jeopardizing my hard work by putting fancy notions into Samwise's head."  
  
Frodo couldn't argue with his Uncle on this point, so he let the matter drop. But he filed this day away in his memory. If ever there was a chance for Samwise to go on an adventure, Frodo would do whatever he could to see that his friend went. 


	4. Background

Chapter 4: Background (same afternoon)  
  
The rest of Frodo's afternoon was taken up in research. Bilbo assigned him the task of looking up all references to Annuminas or Lake Evendim in the history books and maps in the library. Frodo was to gather any and all information about the layout of the land, the history of who had lived there throughout the ages, why it was abandoned, and any other information he might think as being useful for their trip.  
  
Meanwhile, Bilbo went to Hobbiton to purchase supplies. Because he kept a well-stocked second larder full of dried and cured foodstuffs ready for an emergency or a trip, he was actually ready to start their journey as soon as they pleased. However, since this was an exploratory expedition and not a simple business trip. He decided he would need a few extra items which could only be obtained in town.  
  
"Frodo. I am going to have dinner in Hobbiton tonight," Bilbo said as he slung his empty backpack into position. "Mister Gamgee and I are having drinks at the Green Dragon Inn. I don't want to make two separate trips to and from Hobbiton this afternoon. You are more than welcome to come down and join us there after your research is done. My cousin Sigismond will be there too."  
  
"No thank you, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo shook his head. "I would rather not have to face up to Mister Gamgee twice in one day. I'll stay here and do some packing after I'm through with the books."  
  
"All right," Bilbo said as he headed off towards town. "Make sure you leave a lantern on for me."  
  
Frodo returned to the library. The map of the Shire and northern environs was still atop Bilbo's roll top desk. Frodo sat down and stared at the map. Lake Evendim held the clue. There must have been a reason to build a city that far north next to a lake. Why would anyone want to live there? Looking at the map, Frodo tried to duplicate the reasoning behind having a royal city up in that region of Middle Earth.  
  
To the northeast of the lake was the North Downs and the second royal city the Kings of Arnor called Fornost. But Beyond them was the ancient citadel of the Witch King in the Mountains of Angmar. Desolate, harsh, cold lands to the north of the Lake. The only things which lived in that region were wolves and fell beasts of winter. The forbidding ice fields of the north effectively provided a defensive shield for the region. To the south of the lake was the Shire. But before the arrival of hobbits the land was claimed by Men as part of the Kingdom of Arnor, even though Men did not actually live in the area.  
  
Frodo searched through the dusty books and maps looking for clues. In one ancient collection of stories he found a reference to Nenuial in Emyn Uial. The book was in Sindarian, so it took him a bit of concentration to translate the text as he read. But he eventually found that Annuminas and its surrounding lands were not originally settle by Men at all, but by the Elves. And not the native Grey-elves or Green-elves of Middle Earth, but also by the Noldor. Nenuial was the Elvish name for Lake Evendim given by a great Noldorian Elf Queen named Galadriel and her new husband, Celeborn. At the end of the First Age they had established an Elvish realm called Eriador and had built a dwelling by Nenuial in anticipation of the birth of their first child. Eriador was later abandoned in favor of establishing another realm closer to the southern edges of Mirkwood and a pass in the Misty Mountains. The book mentioned that grey-eyed Men from the West took over the Nenuial settlement.  
  
Frodo stopped. Grey-eyed Men from the West. There was not much west of Lake Evendim on the map, and no settlements of Men that Frodo could find. Just the Mithlond River which bisected the long Ered Luin mountain range of the dwarves, and the long-established Elvish harbor of the Grey Havens at the mouth of the Gulf of Luin. They all bordered the Sea. The sea . Men from the West. Maybe the text was referring to Men from the Sea?  
  
Frodo began to see the puzzle laid out before him through the map of time. He knew that the Kings of Men, or Numenorians, had come to Middle Earth during the Second Age at the pleading for assistance by the great Elf lords in heir battles with the Shadow of the East. The Numenorians had responded, bringing Men and supplies from the great island of Numenor in the Western Seas, which had later been swallowed up. Frodo had always believed that the Numenorians had landed in the southern lands of Middle Earth. But now it was clear that some had landed at the Grey Havens. Numenorians in the Shire!  
  
Frodo was so engrossed in his reading that he didn't hear the faint knock on the door. His thoughts were interrupted by a small voice coming from outside the library window.  
  
"Mister Frodo? Are you there?"  
  
Frodo put down the book and went to the open window. "Hello?" He hadn't noticed that the sun had set either. The last rays of the sun illumined the window and the colorful flowerbed in front.  
  
Out from behind the zinnias and snapdragons stepped Sam. He was holding something behind his back. "Me Da's gone into town, and me Mum said I should bring ya this, Mister Frodo," Sam shyly said, smiling. He brought out one of Mrs. Gamgee's homemade beef and mushroom pies.  
  
"Bless you, Sam!" Frodo smiled. "I forgot to have dinner! How does your mother know these things?"  
  
"I dunno," Sam said.  
  
"Come in the back door," Frodo called as he went into the kitchen. Sam met him at the rear entranceway, pie in hand. "Have you had supper yet Sam?"  
  
Sam nodded. "My mom says I have to come home right away. That is . unless you have something you want me to do since I missed work this afternoon," Sam said. He looked at his feet.  
  
Frodo smiled. "I do indeed have something for you to do." Frodo grabbed a couple of plates and two spoons. "I can't eat all this by myself. I need you to help me finish it since I can't send a full plate back to your mother, now can I? Could you get us some milk too?" Sam was momentarily confused at the unusual request, but retrieved a couple of glasses and filled them with milk from the jug.  
  
"Come on," Frodo said as he shoved a plate full of pie at his friend, "let's go into the library. I'm in the middle of reading about some Elves that used to live just north of the Shire, and I don't want to loose my place. Maybe you can help me keep all the facts straight." Frodo took his glass of milk from Sam and started down the hallway.  
  
"But . but Mister Frodo," Sam called out, "I'm not supposed to eat anywhere 'cept the kitchen. My Da would have a fit if he caught me in Master Bilbo's library with food!" Sam hesitated at the kitchen doorframe.  
  
Frodo turned around and led Sam back to the kitchen table. "Sam, you are right. Once my mind is set on something, I tend to plow ahead and do it without thinking of the consequences. I didn't even consider the possibility of making a mess on Uncle Bilbo's books and maps. Guess it's better if we eat here, then go into the library. Is that all right with you?"  
  
Sam smiled and the two friends sat down to dinner.  
  
---------  
  
Bilbo was thankful that Frodo had set out not only a lantern at the front door, but also one at the front gate. The fading crescent moon had returned to bed early in the evening, and all was dark and still as Bilbo ascended the front steps and went into the smial. Having a few beers with Hamfast made walking a bit of a challenge in the dark. Hamfast was used to his more-potent homebrew than the gentle ales served at the Green Dragon.  
  
"That you Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo called out from the library.  
  
"Yesh." Bilbo shrugged off his backpack, but carried it into his library instead of hanging it up on the pegs in the hallway. "I have something for you, Frodo."  
  
Frodo had the library lighted up with multiple candles. There were books and maps in neat piles on the floor, and a new map under construction on the worktable. Bilbo set the backpack down on the floor and pulled out the long cane sticking out of the top of the sack.  
  
"What in the world is that?" Frodo asked.  
  
Bilbo waved a slightly bleary finger at him. "Patience. There's more to come." He pulled out a second, and a third cane from the pack. "Notice that they screw together and have guide rings." Bilbo seemed immensely proud of the contraption. He pulled out a ball of thin twine and a box.  
  
Suddenly the puzzle came together in Frodo's quick mind. "It's a fishing pole! But it fits into your backpack. How wonderful. Where did you get that?"  
  
Bilbo smiled. "Hamfast's brother, Andy Roper, made it. Damn clever, eh? It's for me. I plan on doing a little fishing if we're going all that way up to a lake. No telling what type of fish live up there in the cold north. Maybe I'll catch one for the record books." Bilbo reached into the pack again. "I purchased something for you as well." He brought out a small leather tablet set inside a wooden frame with a complicated wooden box attached to one side. "Go ahead. Open it."  
  
Frodo unbound the brown ribbon holding the contraption shut. The first thing he noticed was the small pad of creamy paper held to the wooden frame by a clip. The attached box held intricate compartments for holding writing and drawing equipment. They contained a small inkwell with a screw- on metal lid, a couple of general-purpose quills, sticks of charcoal, a blotter, and a sharpening knife and whetstone. Frodo was stunned. It was a traveling kit for documenting their expedition. He knew the special inkwell alone must have cost quite a good bit of money.  
  
"I . I don't know what to say," he stammered. "Thank you!" He hugged his Uncle.  
  
Bilbo smiled again. "It's all arranged. The Gamgees will look after Bag End while we are gone. I hope you did your homework well. We leave tomorrow. I'm going to sleep now. Good night Frodo." 


	5. Ghosts of the Lake

Chapter 5: Ghosts of the Lake   
  
Bilbo and Frodo got a late start to their adventure. Most of the morning was taken up with packing enough foodstuffs to last them for two weeks, plus enough clothes to anticipate any change in the summer weather. Frodo was placed in charge of packing the maps, bedding, cooking utensils and safety equipment such as ropes, a small axe, and a couple of sturdy utility knives. Bilbo spent an hour with Mr. and Mrs. Gamgee going over what he wanted done at Bag End while they were away. The most important item was who was not allowed inside the house. Under no circumstances were the Sackville-Bagginses to be allowed through the front door.  
  
By late morning Frodo had the two packs and walking sticks ready to go. He was standing at the front door when Bilbo emerged from one of the back storage rooms. He was wearing a sword at his hip and carried another in his hands.  
  
"Do you really think it necessary to carry weapons?" Frodo asked. He had never been terribly keen on learning swordsmanship or any other defensive art.  
  
"Yes, given the news from the dwarves," Bilbo replied. "I'll carry Sting, as I am quite used to using her. I am afraid your sword is not as elegant, but it will serve if we come into a tight place and have to use it. Here. Put it on."  
  
Frodo took the smaller hobbit-made blade and scabbard and bound it round his slender hips. Bilbo helped him arrange the scabbard so that it was secure without interfering with the backpack, rope or bedroll.  
  
"We're off!" Bilbo cried to the Gamgees who were standing in the garden beside the front door. "We'll be back in two weeks or so."  
  
"Bye bye Mister Frodo," young Samwise waved. His younger sister, Marigold, peeked out from behind her mother's skirt.  
  
The two set off north on the footpath to Overhill at about eleven bells. The day was already turning hot and steamy as a bank of thick clouds had rolled into the area. Soon Frodo abandoned his overcoat and loosened up his shirt collar. He and Bilbo had taken many smaller business trips throughout the Shire in the years since Frodo had come to live with his Uncle. He had been to the Mathom House in Micheldelving where Bilbo's mithril coat hung on display. To Tookborough to visit with his relatives. To Buckland too many times to recall. And even down to the pipeweed farms near Longbottom in the South Farthing. Bilbo held part interest in a farm there. Tramping about the countryside with pack on back was nothing new to Frodo. Having a sword whacking him in the leg as he strode along the byways, however, was new. And annoying.  
  
They forded the north branch of the Water just past Overhill as they were heading northeast through farm lanes and back trails. A cattle crossing provided muddy but safe footing over the Water, which was no more than a little stream in the summer heat. Frodo and Bilbo both knew this part of the Shire extremely well, as Bilbo owned land around the Overhill area and frequently made business trips there. They soon reached the main North/South Shire road and turned left, leading them northwards into the heart of the North Farthing.  
  
The rest of the day was spent traveling up the ancient Dwarvish road leading to Oatbarton. They set themselves a leisurely pace, occasionally stopping to rest under the shade of a knotted old tree in one of the numerous orchards in the region. The North Farthing was well known as the Shire's major fruit producing area. Pear, apple, fig, plum and apricot orchards fanned out from the road as far as the eye could see. Deep green vineyards with red rose bushes at the end of each neat row lined the hillsides. The occasional vegetable garden or dairy cattle farm punctuated the pleasant landscape. They stopped at one of the many roadside fruit stands and purchased fresh peaches and tomatoes for a late lunch.  
  
Not much was said between Frodo and Bilbo as they walked. Frodo had learned from Bilbo how to enjoy the sights and sounds of the road, leaving talking to the end of the day. Infrequently one would point out a particular item of interest to the other. Bilbo usually took it as an opportunity to continue Frodo's education, telling him of the plants and animals in the area. But Bilbo seemed more preoccupied with his own thoughts this day. He rarely looked around at the lovely well-tended farms, orchards and roadside stands, preferring the company of his own thoughts. Frodo could tell he had brought his gold ring, as Bilbo would frequently reach into his pocket and finger the precious item.  
  
"Bilbo?" Frodo finally spoke as they strode along the hard-packed earthen road.  
  
"Oh. Yes?" Bilbo's attention came back to reality. He quickly removed his hand from his pocket.  
  
"Why did you bring your magic ring along?" Frodo asked.  
  
Bilbo thought about it for a moment. "I don't rightly know. Normally I would have put it away under lock and key; not taking the risk of losing it on a trip." He reached into his coat pocket and looked at the ring lying in the palm of his hand. "I've had this ring for years. Years. Never really thought too much about it. But lately ." His voice trailed off as he became lost in contemplation again.  
  
Frodo took up the lost thread of conversation. "You've been keeping it in your pocket lately."  
  
Bilbo stopped toying with the ring and abruptly shoved it back into its pocket. "Yes. It's been on my mind a lot recently. Don't know why. I keep thinking I have to do something with it." Bilbo smiled at his young nephew. "Maybe I should donate it to the Mathom House like I did with the mithril coat."  
  
Frodo smiled. "But then you couldn't sneak away from Aunt Lobelia when she comes over."  
  
"You saw that, did you?" Bilbo chuckled. "Ah, I can't abide that woman. Otho's not so bad, really. But Lobelia is a real pain in my side. That son of theirs thinks he's entitled to everything I have too, just because he's my closest relative. Can you blame me for wanting to disappear whenever she's around?"  
  
"Not really," Frodo laughed. "Best keep that ring on you at all times. You never know when you might need to use it."  
  
"Or it use me," Bilbo whispered to himself.  
  
Twilight was falling as they arrived at the Wood Chip Inn in Oatbarton. They spent the night there, joining in with the locals in enjoying a merry night at the pub. Bilbo recited several of his own original humorous poems, to the great delight of the local populace. They were always eager to hear the latest news from Hobbiton, and Bilbo obliged them in that also. Frodo sat by, quietly enjoying seeing his Uncle relax.  
  
The next day they continued up the North Road towards the little village of Northway at the top of the North Farthing. Orchards and vineyards gave way to gentle rolling hills with the occasional outcropping of hard grey stone. They passed through some stands of dark evergreen, passing in and out of shadow and dappled sunlight. The road dwindled into a deeply-rutted dirt path between farms and fenced sheep pastures. For lunch they wandered a little off the road and into a meadow full of blueberry bushes. The Shire always provided for the hobbits, being blessed with gentle weather and rich soils.  
  
They reached the outskirts of Northway at supper time. The little village was not more than a bump in the road, with few houses and a couple of businesses whose main occupation reflected the needs of its rural families. There was an Inn where the North/South road met up with another ancient trail leading southwest towards Little Delving in the West Farthing. Frodo and Bilbo spent the night at the Blind Pig Inn, delighting in a surprisingly excellent ale brewed by the master of the Inn, and a lovely dinner of lamb stew prepared by the master's wife. After supper, the Inn began filling with local farmers and workers of the field coming in for a nice evening at their pub. Once again Bilbo was the center attraction; bringing news from Hobbiton and the East Farthing, and letting the locals get a close look at his sword, Sting.  
  
"What brings you up this far north, Mister Baggins?" one of the patrons asked.  
  
"Fishing trip," Bilbo said as he sipped his ale.  
  
That brought a round of laughter to all assembled. "Ya won't catch much fush with this sort of hook!" a grizzled old farmer roared, flourishing Sting before handing it back to Bilbo. Bilbo smiled and replaced Sting into its weather-beaten scabbard.  
  
"There ain't no fishing up here," one of the other locals laughed. "Whoever told you to go fishing in the North Farthing was either having you on, or doesn't know a fishing hole from a cow patty."  
  
"But we're not going fishing in the North Farthing," Frodo said. "We're going up to Lake Everdim."  
  
The laughter immediately died down. "Everdim?" the host asked. "That's outside the Shire, you know."  
  
"Yes, we know," Bilbo calmly replied, sipping his beer.  
  
"Taint safe to go outside the Shire," one of the rough farm lads piped up, gesturing with his corncob pipe. "There's wolves and beasts and other strange things outside the borders. Wild Men too. Only folk which go out past the borders are some shepherds and dogs running herds in the summer high pastures. I don't think you want to be going up into them hills. Folks say they're haunted."  
  
"Haunted?" Frodo whispered.  
  
Everyone in the pub quieted to hear the story. "Them hills are haunted by the ghosts of dead Big Folk," the farmer continued. "I hear tell that fierce warriors used to live up near that lake a long, long time ago. But they was forced to move out by a powerful curse."  
  
"A curse?" Frodo's eyes were as wide as saucers. He loved a good ghost story. Bilbo snorted and got out his own long-stemmed clay pipe.  
  
"Aye, lad," the farmer addressed Frodo directly. "A curse placed upon the land itself by a mighty witch king long, long ago." Seeing as he held the attention of the entire bar, the farmer continued. "They say he was a King of Men. A right good King too. But he was put under a terrible spell by another King. Forced to live on and on and on. Never really dead. Never really alive either. Always hunting in the wilds for new blood. The story says he was double crossed by some high and mighty feller from that lake town. So he placed a curse on the rocks and stones of their houses so that no one would ever live there ever again. All the Big Folk living there became sick and died. Or worse .."  
  
His voice became a whisper. "Some went mad from losing their kin to the curse. The poor blighters would run down to the shore and jump into the deep part of that black, icy lake with all their fancy warrior armor on, only to sink like rocks till they joined the other dead folk drowned in that cursed lake. Some fell into cunning hidden traps the witch king set, and ended up starving to death in holes in the ground. He also turned some of the stones into trolls who would lie in wait for the unsuspecting traveler. And when one would come along trying to escape out that cursed place, the troll would snatch him up in his rocky arms and carry him off to be sacrificed on a giant stone altar by the witch king himself! Slashed to pieces with an iron blade dripping acid while the wolves circled round and round!"  
  
"Oh, Carl, you're making that all up," one pretty hobbit lass giggled nervously.  
  
"Am not," the farmer leaned back in his chair. "My dad told me that story when I was a wee lad. And he got it from his dad and his dad before him."  
  
"And embellished at each retelling," the innkeeper laughed. "Next you'll be saying the trees are enchanted too and walking about; ready to snatch up any unwary fisherman who comes through your land and filtches an apple or two." The mood was lightening considerably at the jest.  
  
"Aw now, Robin," the farmer said, "you're spoiling me ghost story!" He smiled at Frodo and winked. "Don't pay me nor him no never mind, young master. I'm just having you on a bit with them curses and things." He turned to Bilbo. "But I really wouldn't go on up to the lake if I was you. It's a hard climb in the hills and there really are lots of nasty places where you could get lost or bring down a rock slide on top of your head."  
  
"And the weather's unpredictable too," the innkeeper added. "Nobody goes up there anymore, so if you get in trouble, you'll just have to get your own self out of it."  
  
"Well, thank you for all the warnings." Bilbo drained his mug and grabbed Sting. "Come along Frodo. We have an early start in the morning."  
  
Frodo stood and bowed to the farmer. "Thank you for an excellent ghost story."  
  
The farmer shook Frodo's hand. "Pray you don't meet up with any. Good luck young sir." 


	6. Shepherd's Shelter

Chapter 6: Shepherd's shelter  
  
Bilbo and Frodo continued their journey early the next morning, leaving Northway and picking up the remnants of an old road leading northward into the hilly countryside. After a few hours, the path dwindled into little more than a footpath between miles and miles of green pastureland and clumps of tall evergreen trees.  
  
The walk was pleasant enough. They passed unnoticed through cattle and sheep pastures. The land became more mountainous and stony as they reached the upper limits of the Shire. Only the occasional little wooden lean-to and isolated shepherd's hut distinguished the landscape.  
  
In mid-afternoon they halted beside a small sign posted on the trail. In very faded letters it read:  
  
Now Leaving Shire Borders  
Continue On at Your Own Risk  
  
There was nothing else to see save for rocky rolling foothills and wild pasture lands with scattered stands of trees. The trail had become a single-person path continuing northward past the border sign. It was evident that the path had been used quite a bit in the past and was still being used by somebody, although the hobbits couldn't imagine who would maintain a path leading out of the Shire.  
  
They continued on. Frodo was terribly excited. It was the first time he had actually been outside the borders of his little country. He had never been this far north, and the rock formations and plants were becoming increasingly strange to him. He could see the faint blue outlines of the southern ramparts of the Emyn Uial in the near distance. They would reach them by the next morning.  
  
As the light began to fade, the hobbits could make out one of the infrequent shepherd's huts in the grassy green distance. It was a little bit off the path, but Bilbo decided they should spend the night in the hut rather than out in the open.  
  
From the outside, the hut appeared little more than a shelter from the weather. But inside they could see that it was well-constructed to withstand the harsher elements of the northern country and provide a limited amount of comfort as well. In accordance with hospitality traditions, dry stacked firewood had been left next to the little stone fireplace, along with a humble crockery wash basin and pitcher. Dry tinder and a small bundle of kindling, along with a flint stone were set on the hearth to the right side of the fireplace. The hearth also had a well-worn iron pot and ladle hanging from a swing-out iron brace nailed to the wall. The single room hut had one cot and a straw mattress against one wall, plus two moth-eaten blankets. It was humble, but it was evidently somebody's home at least part of the year. The strange thing about the hut was its scale. Too large for a hobbit.  
  
Before the light faded, Frodo filled the pitcher with water from a nearby stream. Bilbo and he spent the night in relative comfort, cooking a nice hot meal in the pot over the fire. They relaxed for a couple of hours outside in the darkness of a moonless night; stars blazing in the blackness of the sky before the nighttime summer haze obscured them.  
  
"What do you make of those ghost stories, Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked as he took a deep draw on his pipe.  
  
"Mostly balderdash with a sprinkling of truth," Bilbo replied. "You and I both know trolls don't behave like that, nor are they created out of stone. So that part was made up. And I doubt there's a curse on the place. But there may be a kernel of truth to the part about a sickness driving off the people living around the lake. I remember the great winter of 1311. I was about your age - twenty-one, at the time. The Brandywine froze and wolves came out of the north and into the Shire. A great pestilence also came down with them. Many people died that winter from the black illness. If something like that happened to these people on the lake, then stories about a 'curse' might have been passed down to explain the disaster."  
  
"But do you think there were Men living by the lake at one time?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Oh yes," Bilbo replied. "And we just might be able to find that lost city." He turned to Frodo. "If not, then we will at least have good, uninterrupted fishing."  
  
But Bilbo's dreams that night were not of pleasant fishing. He dreamed of evil things: wargs and spiders and orcs. Familiar nightmares left over from his adventure years ago. But now a new set of nightmares crept into his dreams. A dream of an unseen danger. A dark, menacing evil growing out of his own hand and consuming both himself and Frodo. Then a dream of Frodo in a dark, harsh place full of sharp rocks and driving rain. Another dream of Frodo being attacked by Gollum as Bilbo looked on, helpless to save his nephew.  
  
Bilbo awoke in the dead of night, sweating and clutching something to his chest. It was his ring. 'Must be those stupid ghost stories,' he thought to himself as he looked over to see Frodo peacefully asleep on his bedroll next to the cot. 'Now I'm getting them all mixed up with my own worries.' He pushed the dark thoughts away, returned the ring to his pocket, rolled over, and went back to sleep.  
  
-------  
  
Before they left the next morning, Bilbo replenished the firewood they had used during their stay. Frodo was busy with pen and ink while Bilbo gathered the wood. As they left the humble shepherd's hut, Frodo left his thank you gift to the owner. It was an ink sketch of the hut set amidst the rolling landscape. He tacked it to a wall, securing it with a wooden splinter.  
  
The day was spent moving from the relative flatness of the pastures into the hard rock hills of the southern Emyn Uial. The path they had been following disappeared into the stony foothills, so Bilbo and Frodo began to note down landmarks on the map Frodo had begun back at Bag End.  
  
Every once in a while Bilbo would stop and turn around, searching for something unseen and unheard. After the third time he did this, Frodo asked what was wrong.  
  
"I don't know," Bilbo replied. "I keep getting this feeling that we aren't the only people out here. Like we are being watched or followed."  
  
Frodo took a careful look around. "I don't see anything unusual. Just rocks and hills and scrub bushes."  
  
"Well, let's be on our toes anyway," Bilbo said. "Remember what the dwarves said about orcs and things."  
  
They labored on into the ancient worn-down mountains, walking along ravines, over crests and into shallow valleys filled with heather and low, windswept woods. Bilbo remained silent for most of the day, intent on keeping to a path as true to due north as they could make. They crossed over the highest ridge of the landscape just as the red swollen disk of the sun dipped below the horizon. Before them in the gathering gloom of distance spread a large, dark lake at the edge of the hills.  
  
Bilbo and Frodo knew they should keep pressing on down the rocks as long as the daylight lasted. But the first view of the waters demanded they stop and appreciate its beauty for at least a few minutes. Birds chattered in the last rays of the golden sun. The lake shimmered and wavered in the summer heat and distance. It was a deep lake captured on South and West by the old worn-down mountains of the Emyn Uial. In the darkening haze of the East, Frodo could just make out the beginnings of a river. The Brandywine. It was beautiful in its wildness and stillness.  
  
Frodo and Bilbo finally moved on, climbing down an animal track which wandered its way through the boulders. Throughout their day's journey they had run across faint trails in the rocks. This one lead them into a wide upland meadow. Wild blue berries and fragrant primitive roses dominated the lush green mountainside field, with the occasional ancient apple tree providing shade for the meadow's inhabitants.  
  
The hobbits took shelter for the night alongside a tiny spring which emerged from its underground source by dripping through a crack between two boulders. Dinner consisted of hard cheese and bread, supplemented with the bounteous wild berries supplied by nature. A full pipe under the tree as an after-dinner treat finished off a hard, but satisfying day of travel for the two. Bilbo said they were probably the first hobbits to ever see Lake Evendim. This made Frodo exceptionally proud of his Uncle's accomplishments. The night was spent in deep, restful slumber nestled in warm bedrolls atop the soft grass.  
  
An owl hooted in the night. Another owl replied. And watchful eyes renewed their vigilance. 


	7. In the Presence of Mine Enemies

Chapter 7: In the presence of mine enemies  
  
"I tells ya, Rom, I can smell 'em even if I can't see 'em. They're burning something. Something I ain't never smelled before."  
  
"Well they can't be Elves, cause they don't burn nothin' out in the wild. Must be some of them Rangers."  
  
"Don't think so. Rangers aren't that sloppy. These whoever-they-are go walking about in the Wild as if they own the place. They don't even bother to cover their tracks. And mighty peculiar tracks they are too. It's like they're barefoot or something. But nobody I know goes around barefoot in the Wild."  
  
"Those little people from down south do, Rufus."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I messed with one of 'em once about ten years ago. A shepherd out moving his flock in ta pasture out past their borders. I got meself a heap of lamb that year! Me and ole Rosco. We kept going after that poor ole halfling's flock each night. Made off with five the first night, three the second, and six the next. Well, that little blighter turned and hightailed it back to his own country as fast as his little naked feet could scurry. Thought we was some sort of boogie men I imagine." An oily laugh came out of his mouth.  
  
"How come we don't go raidin' down there, if they're so small and easily frightened?"  
  
"Oh, they band together when they're in their own lands. You kin steal a sheep or cow or pig or two when ya have to, but it ain't worth the trouble and travel. Rumor's got it that the Rangers don't let no one into the halfling's land unless it's for legit business."  
  
Two men sat at the edge of the upland meadow in the darkness of the moonless night. The larger of the two picked his yellow teeth with a hunting knife and spat on the ground. "So, Rom, what do ya recon these halflings are doin' up here? They ain't got no sheep, that's for sure."  
  
"Dunno," Rufus said as he stood up. "Halflings are not know fer travel. Maybe they got some gold or goodies on 'em. Maybe they're lost messengers with somethin' we can use as ransom. Maybe they ain't even halflings. It might be a couple of dwarves from the Blue Mountains. In any case, I aims to find out who they are and what they got on 'em." He drew his sword and started walking towards the apple tree in the distance.  
  
An owl hooted in the darkness. Another owl answered nearby. And suddenly the two men were face to face with several tall, hooded and cloaked men whose bows and arrows were pointed directly at their faces.  
  
"Cripes!" yelped Rufus. "Don't shoot! We didn't know you was here!"  
  
"That much is quite evident," a soft, silky voice came from behind one of the masks. "Now remove your swords and place them on the ground."  
  
The men did as they were bid. "Who are you? What do you want from us?"  
  
"Silence," came the cold reply. One of the hooded men picked up the discarded swords and disappeared into the night. "Don't move, if you value your life."  
  
Rom tried to not flinch as he and Rufus were searched and their hunting knives deftly removed. They were unarmed now.  
  
"Look, whoever you are," Rufus bluffed, "we're with a large group of armed men, and you're going at be in serious trouble unless you let us go."  
  
A faint snort came from one of the hooded men.  
  
"We have been following you for two days now, gentlemen, and we know you are alone." The silken voice stepped forward out from the shadow and into the starlight. The tall stately being removed his hood, revealing long, straight golden hair and a fair Elvish face with dark hard-set eyes glinting with deadly intent. "If I were you, I would leave the Emyn Uial tonight and return to your lair near Fornost. Leave the travelers alone and we will set you free to go about your, ah, business, elsewhere."  
  
Rom gasped at seeing the unhooded Elf in the starlight. Such beauty combined with deadly intent. He grabbed his mate's arm and tugged. "Cripes, Rufus! Do what he says! I don't wanna end up fallin' under one of them Elf spells!"  
  
"Shut up, ya superstitious cow," Rufus grumbled. He turned to address the Elf. "Return our weapons to us, and we will leave. You can't be so cruel as to make us go unarmed in the Wild Lands. That ain't the law."  
  
"If I were cruel I would have ordered you shot where you stood instead of allowing you to leave at all," the cold answer came. "And I would not be quoting the law to those who still remember that there is a King. Now be off. Remember that Rangers still patrol Arnor. If you return you shall be killed at sight by orders of the Lord of Imladris." The hooded men lowered their weapons and silently faded back into the shadows of the Wild.  
  
Rufus and Rom grabbed their packs and headed out into the darkness.  
  
"Your orders?" one of the Rangers asked the Elf.  
  
The Elf turned an address another of the hooded Men. "What shall we do, Ellessar?"  
  
"Talfan," a weary voice directed another of the cloaked Rangers. "Take their weapons with you and follow them for a couple of days. If they hold true to their word and return to their cave, leave their weapons in it before they arrive. If they deviate from their destined course at all, or if they start to formulate plans against the hobbits, kill them."  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
Peace once again descended on the high country meadow, save for the occasional hooting of an owl. 


	8. Signs

Chapter 8: Signs  
  
"Look at this one, Uncle Bilbo." Frodo pointed to some faint scratchings in the lichen-covered boulder which bisected the trail they were following. "It's another star and an arrow pointing to the left. I'm going to sketch this one."  
  
Bilbo came up the trail and squinted to read the faint marks. "Yes, I do believe you are right about these things. Definitely markings."  
  
"They are terribly old, aren't they?" Frodo asked. He put down his pack and retrieved his little writing pad. Taking out a piece of charcoal, he made a tracing of the pattern in the rock, then carefully folded it and placed it back onto the clipboard, tucking it safely away into the pack.  
  
"Yes, and no," Bilbo replied. "It looks to me like this sign was carved into the rock a long time ago, but has been refreshed more recently. Can't tell how recently though."  
  
"Bet it's a trail marker made by the Numenorians," Frodo excited announced. "Wonder why they want us to go left here instead of right. The trail looks much easier on the right. And the right-hand section seems to lead more directly down to the water." Frodo turned to his Uncle. "So, which trail do we take?"  
  
Bilbo thought for a moment. "Gandalf used to make marks in trails somewhat similar to these. I think it best if we take the left-side trail, even if it looks more difficult and adds time to our hike. If we have time later on our return, we can explore the other trail and see where that leads."  
  
They started off down the rocky left-hand path. The going was rough, with well-established thorny brambles and tangles of clingy vines partially obscuring the way. The day became hot and sticky and the air laden with moisture. Frodo's dark curls were soon plastered to his sweaty forehead. He and Bilbo both slapped mosquitoes at every step. But at least they were going downhill.  
  
The path gradually led them out of the hills and into a rocky forested area, where the trail joined up with another coming from the east. The hobbits had only gone into the woods a few minutes when they realized their path had run out. There was no telling which way it went, since the forest floor was completely covered in a thick layer of moss and dry pine needles. Even though it was mid-day, very little sunlight filtered into the deep, gloomy woods. Paradoxically, hiking through the high trees was much easier than on the path, since the scant sunlight reduced the number of understory scrub bushes and tangled vines.  
  
"Which way do we go now?" Frodo looked to his Uncle. He had lost his bearings in the tall pines, unable to see or feel the sun. A thick cloud cover had moved in, and what sky they could see through the dark tree limbs was leaden with threatening rain.  
  
"Since we are trying to reach the lake, I suggest we follow our feet downhill," Bilbo prompted. "But be on the lookout for shelter. It's bound to start pouring any moment now, and I don't relish spending a soggy night out in the open."  
  
They hiked downhill through the ever-darkening gloom. Sometimes they could just make out large boulders jutting up out of the ground at odd angles. It began to thunder in the distance. Bilbo took the lead, trying to find some sort of shelter from the impending storm. As the thunder intensified and lightening flashes were seen, he spotted what looked like a convenient outcropping of rock with a large undercut area. Fat raindrops began as the hobbits raced towards the distant shelter.  
  
Frodo found himself on a trail towards the rocks. If they ran, they could reach the shelter before the full force of the lightening and rain came upon them. "Hurry, Bilbo! I think we can just make it!" he yelled back over his shoulder, clutching his bouncing sword with one hand and his staff with the other.  
  
"Frodo! Stop!" Bilbo yelled into the wind. His keen eyes had seen what Frodo's had overlooked in the rain and his haste. Another of the scratchings - this one on an ancient tree trunk along the pathway. Except this time under the star was an 'X'. "Frodo! Stop!" Bilbo again screamed as the rain began to pour out of the black sky.  
  
In one flash of lightening he could see his nephew racing ahead along the trail. Bilbo fumbled in the rain and finally unsheathed Sting from its wet scabbard. He looked up just an another flash of lightening illumined something much more ominous; Frodo was nowhere to be seen. Bilbo ran up the path as the cold rain continued. He could hear something running in the pine needles to his left. More noise to his right. Bilbo quickly turned around, Sting at the ready. He was relieved to see it was not glowing blue. But the sight which met his eyes unnerved him just the same.  
  
The woods appeared to suddenly fill with the ghostly forms of Men. Tall and silent they were; clad in grey cloaks; dark masks covering their grim faces. Most carried bows and arrows, and a few had swords drawn, ready for battle. Bilbo was surrounded. One lone hobbit against a host of warriors. 'Disappear.' The thought came unbidden to his mind. Bilbo instantly discounted the voice, planted his feet firmly in the mud, and raised Sting.  
  
One of the men strode over to the hobbit, bright long sword at the ready. "Where is your companion?" he demanded, his cloak whipping around his legs in the wind.  
  
Bilbo waved Sting in his face and yelled into the wind. "What have you done with Frodo?"  
  
The tall masked stranger eyed the small Elvish blade with some curiosity, but quickly put his questions aside. "Time is of the essence, my friend," he replied. "If he ignored the warning signs, your companion is in great danger." He effortlessly sheathed his own sword back into its scabbard and approached Bilbo with open hands. "Speak quickly. Did he go up the trail?"  
  
Bilbo looked around. Another lightening bolt revealed the stranger's grey eyes and a lock of his long blond hair whipping out from under his hood. Bilbo hesitated for only a second. "Yes! He was running towards those rocks."  
  
The band of men silently divided into two groups and headed through the rain-soaked woods on either side of the trail. "Follow me," the leader said, "and walk in my footsteps. If you stray but a little, you also might be lost." With a turn, he left the path and began to go uphill.  
  
Bilbo had no choice but to put Sting away and follow as best he could. Thunder and lightening boomed overhead as the rain became a torrent. After a few moments, the group halted. They could hear it coming from below.  
  
"Help! Help! Bbbb . Bilbo!"  
  
Frodo's voice was coming from somewhere close by. But it was muffled as if it came from under the earth. Bilbo automatically turned towards the voice. "I'm coming Frodo! Hold on!" But he was restrained by the leader.  
  
"A pit," someone said.  
  
"Mardil. Elessar. Take the ropes," the leader instructed. Two tall men grabbed ropes and disappeared into the gloom of the wet trail. A couple more men followed them. Groundwater was now trickling over the rocks and forming a stream where the trail should have been. It would soon become a flashflood if they did not hurry.  
  
"Let me go to him!" Bilbo struggled to escape from his captor's arms. "Frodo! Hang on!"  
  
"My men will save him, if they are able," the calm voice replied as the rain intensified. Bilbo could do nothing except wait as instructed. It was one of the most horrifying times of his life.  
  
"We have him!" The shout could barely be heard over the crashing of the thunder and the noise of the rain slashing through the trees. "We're taking him to the cave."  
  
"Come with me," the leader instructed.. Bilbo followed the dark host of men uphill and through the woods until they reached another outcropping of hard granite. This one was wide and deep and dry. Horses were tethered next to the small cave's opening, withers to the wind and rain.  
  
Four men were already in the shelter when Bilbo's crew arrived. Much to Bilbo's relief, Frodo was sitting next to a fire pit, tightly clutching a large cloak to his shivering wet frame.  
  
"Frodo!" Bilbo raced up and hugged his nephew to his breast. "My boy! Are you hurt?"  
  
"No," Frodo said, "but I am grateful you sent these men to help when you did. I would have drowned in that pit." Frodo looked up uncertainly as more silent dark-clad men came into the shallow cave. A total of nine surrounded the two drenched hobbits.  
  
"I didn't send them," Bilbo replied. "Chance and good fortune brought them to our aid."  
  
"One makes one's fortunes in the Wild," the dark-haired man closest to Frodo replied, "and chance had little to do with this." The only thing Frodo could see of his face was his intense grey eyes. They seemed far older than Frodo could have imagined.  
  
Frodo shrank back against his Uncle. "Numenorians," he whispered. "Are they ghosts?"  
  
The man snorted in amusement. "I've been called worse." His companions chuckled.  
  
Bilbo stood and addressed the tall leader as the men busied themselves to wait out the storm. "My nephew and I are grateful to you, sirs, for rescuing us. To whom may I give my thanks?"  
  
"You may thank my Lord Elrond for keeping us on patrol, Mister Baggins," the leader replied, removing his mask and cloak to reveal himself as a golden-haired Elf-lord. He smiled and sat down across from the hobbits. Frodo's mouth flew open. One of the men started a fire.  
  
"You have me at quite a disadvantage, sir," Bilbo calmly replied. "It seems I am known to you, although I do not think we have met."  
  
"I was away on another, um., journey the last time you were at Imladris, Mister Bilbo Baggins," he said. "But I heard all about your adventure to Erebor and back again from Lord Elrond himself. You are well known at the Last Homely House in the West. My name is Glorfindel, and these men and I patrol the Wilds around Imladris. I believe Men and hobbits of Bree call them Rangers." He turned to Frodo. "And you, my young and very foolish hobbit, are.?"  
  
Frodo stood and bowed deeply to the Elf. "Frodo Baggins, at your eternal service, my lord. Thank you for rescuing this extremely foolish hobbit from that terrible pit. I shall not forget your kindness, nor that of your men." Frodo turned to the dark-haired men and bowed to them as well.  
  
The fire brought a measure of comfort to an otherwise dreadful afternoon. The rain tapered off and finally blew away towards the east. The rest of the company took off their wet cloaks and masks and arranged them to dry. Frodo could now see that Glorfindel was the only Elf among them. The rest were tall, dark-haired men of tough and wiry build. Most appeared to be in their thirties, although a couple had grey in their hair and beards. They were completely unlike the rather round, short and soft merchants from Bree, who tended to have brown or reddish hair and would never have been caught out in the Wild. The Men from Bree were more closely related to hobbits than to these strange Men.  
  
Not much was said as the men went about their tasks. A spit was set up over the fire, and soon roasts of venison were cooking. Bilbo and Frodo offered to share their foodstuffs with the Rangers, and their offer was gratefully accepted. Then Rangers looked on in astonishment as Bilbo and Frodo unloaded not just a few items from their backpacks, but a veritable feast to the hungry woodsmen's eyes: bread (although a bit soggy); hard cheeses; dried fruits including peaches, apples, prunes, cherries, and raisins; walnuts; almonds and hazelnuts. The Rangers had never seen such a variety of foodstuffs pulled from a backpack in their lives.  
  
Yet despite the merriment of the cheerful fire and the excellent repast, the Rangers maintained their vigilance. Guards were posted and the fire carefully screened from sight of unfriendly eyes.  
  
"What brings two hobbits up into the Wild northlands?" Glorfindel asked after dinner was finished. "We normally do not see hobbits anywhere except in the Shire or around Bree."  
  
"We're looking for the lost city of Annuminas," Frodo piped up,.  
  
Conversation halted. "Any why would you be looking for that city, my friend?" the Ranger called Elessar asked.  
  
"My young nephew wanted to go on an adventure," Bilbo explained. "Whether we find the lost city of Annuminas or not is now immaterial, since this little episode has proven my point that adventures are dangerous." He pointedly looked at Frodo, who was scribbling madly in his notebook.  
  
"Well, if you continue wandering about in this part of the Wild, you better pay closer attention to the warning signs," Glorfindel said.  
  
Frodo looked up. "The star and pointers? Like this one?" He showed his rock rubbing to the Ranger sitting next to him.  
  
"Impressive that you noticed them," Elessar replied, "but unimpressive that you did not heed them."  
  
"I didn't see that last one," Frodo frowned. "It was raining."  
  
"You were running without looking," Mardil said. "A dangerous habit if one wishes to stay alive."  
  
"We will remember your sage advice," Bilbo replied. "What exactly are those markers?"  
  
"Dunedain signs," Elessar said. "The star is one of the signs of the King. These lands were once overrun by evil men who placed many traps for those of us who remain to protect what is left of the Kingdom."  
  
"We have found and destroyed most of them, as far as we can tell, but there are some which are too large to fill in or deactivate," Mardil said. "We mark these paths as dangerous and to be avoided."  
  
"If you look for the sign of the King, your path will be safe," Glorfindel said. "You might also see marks of a tree and seven stars, or one of the seabird wings. These are also ancient signs of the King. But be on guard at all times. There are yet followers of the Great Deceiver who live in these lands. They would not think twice about having your heads for trophies."  
  
It was late evening. Frodo was exhausted with his narrow escape from the water-filled pit. He fell into a deep sleep listening to the quiet talk around the campfire. Other Rangers also turned in, catching what rest in safety as they could find.  
  
Bilbo stayed up long after the others had gone to sleep. Normally he would have lighted up his pipe, but Glorfindel warned him that the unusual smell of pipeweed would attract undesirables, so he refrained. Instead, he found his hand naturally drawn into his pocket to finger the ring. Bilbo did not bring the ring out into the open firelight. An unusual fear of it being discovered by the Elf suddenly came into his mind. Glorfindel sat across the glowing embers from the hobbit. He was staring up into what midnight sky was visible through the canopy of the trees.  
  
"Your nephew is an unusual hobbit," Glorfindel quietly said.  
  
Bilbo looked quizzically at him.  
  
"Gandalf tells me that hobbits are a naturally quiet people; not given to wanting to know about the world outside their own country. And certainly not given to seeking adventures," the Elf said.  
  
"That is an accurate description," Bilbo had to admit. "I think that is one of the reasons Gandalf likes to visit the Shire."  
  
"Yet you two are here, in the Wild, off on an adventure for no reason other than young Master Frodo wanted to go on one. I perceive that there is more than meets the eye concerning your own adventure, Mister Bilbo Baggins." The Elf was not looking at Bilbo as he nervously fingered the ring in his pocket. "I do not know why Gandalf asked the Dunedain to increase their patrols around the Shire. Wizards have their own reasons for doing things and sometimes do not bother to explain their requests.  
  
"But he asked the Dunedain to do so after you left Imladris many years ago. It does not surprise me to find you have decided to go on another adventure, but I would have thought that old age would have prevented it."  
  
Bilbo put away the ring and looked into the fire. "I don't know why, but old age has been very kind to me. I feel as young and strong as I did when I first left the Shire with Gandalf." He looked up again at the handsome Elf. "But now the urge to go adventuring has captured my heart again. I can't explain it. I long to leave the Shire and see mountains again. Perhaps go back to your lovely Rivendell and enjoy some peace and quiet there."  
  
Bilbo glanced over at Frodo quietly sleeping. His raven-dark hair and eyelashes contrasted sharply against the milky whiteness of his innocent face. Bilbo was again reminded of how Frodo had a faint Elvish air about him.  
  
Bilbo sighed. "But you see, I have obligations now. I want to stay with the lad and see to his proper upbringing. But I also have this great yearning to leave. I do not know how much longer I can resist the urge to flee the Shire. I thought that going on a little holiday with Frodo - well, that I could calm down my own restlessness."  
  
The Elf smiled. "You will do what is best for both of you. When your heart tells you to leave, I am sure the time will be right." He also gazed upon the sleeping form of the younger hobbit. "But stay with your nephew until then. There is something about this one which makes him special. Something I have seen too seldom in my long years of walking under the stars of Middle Earth. A goodness which must be allowed to mature with the wisdom he still lacks. And I perceive only you can give him that which he needs. Stay with Frodo, Bilbo Baggins, and raise him well. And when you are ready, I am sure my Lord Elrond will welcome you back to the autumn of Imladris for as long as your heart desires."  
  
Bilbo smiled. "I think I can last until he comes of age. And you are right. There isn't another hobbit in the Shire like my boy there." Bilbo settled down into his bedroll. "Goodnight my friend. And thank you again for all you have done for us."  
  
"Goodnight, Mister Baggins," came the quiet reply. "We shall meet again." 


	9. Shared Visions

Chapter 9: Shared Visions  
  
The Dunedain and horses were gone when Bilbo awoke. Frodo was up and packing his bedroll in the dappled sunlight of the little glade in front of the rock shelter.  
  
"Good morning, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo smiled. "Care for some left-over venison? The Numenorians gave us some in exchange for our dried peaches. I didn't think you would mind. We can always get more peaches on the way back home."  
  
"Call them Dunedain or Rangers, Frodo," Bilbo instructed as he also rolled his bedroll away and put on Sting. "The Numenorians died out a long time ago." Bilbo shouldered his pack into place.  
  
"They looked like Numenorians to me," Frodo said. "I never met any of the Big Folk from Bree who have grey eyes or carry long swords like these people do. I think they're Numenorians, like out of the history books. Maybe one of them was a King in disguise!"  
  
"Frodo," Bilbo sighed, "you really must curb your imagination somewhat. I ask you. Did any of those hungry, dirty, skinny Rangers look like a King to you?"  
  
"Well, no," Frodo had to admit, "but the Elf was real! I never met a Elf before."  
  
"And the next time you meet one, if you ever meet another, I do hope he is not pulling you out of a pit full of swirling brown water." Bilbo adjusted Sting's scabbard. "No more running down trails without looking before you run. Understood?"  
  
Frodo blushed. "Understood." Frodo glanced around. "Uh, Uncle Bilbo? Have you seen my sword?"  
  
Bilbo sighed. "No. Where was the last place you remember having it?"  
  
"In the pit? Maybe?" Frodo sheepishly said.  
  
"Seems you must have lost it in yesterday's excitement." Bilbo picked up their walking sticks. "Let this be a lesson to you, Frodo Baggins. You'll have to figure out a way to pay for a new sword when we return home. Adventures are dangerous business and there will not always be a group of warriors conveniently hanging around to rescue you. Now come along and let's be on our way. I still wish to do a little fishing before we return to Hobbiton."  
  
"We're not going to find the lost city?" Frodo couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.  
  
"You may look while I fish," Bilbo said as he started downhill, "but sharing last night's dinner with nine hungry Rangers has seriously depleted our food supplies. We shall have to start back tomorrow."  
  
Frodo sighed and followed in his Uncle's footsteps. They had only walked a few paces when something shiny caught Frodo's attention. "Uncle Bilbo! Hold up! I've found another sign of the King."  
  
Bilbo pulled up short and turned around. Frodo stood beside a tall pine tree, grinning from ear to ear. A small sword was jabbed into its bark holding a piece of paper. It read:  
  
Hold onto your sword.  
Keep it sharp, Frodo Baggins.  
You never know when you will need it.  
- Elessar of the Dunedain -  
  
The sign of a tree crowned with seven stars was inked in under the message.  
  
They experienced no more hazardous trails on their way down to the rocky lakeshore. Along the way Frodo noticed what he thought were faint outlines of buildings set back from the shoreline. Bilbo thought they were no more than the natural landscape, but Frodo was convinced they were seeing a village.  
  
The waters of Lake Evendim stretched into the distance, its shores rimmed with eons of granite pebbles worn down by time and erosion. The normally dark, still waters of the lake were a bit brown from the previous day's thunderstorm runoff, but the center of the lake remained as black and fathomless as when they first spied it from atop the Emyn Uial.  
  
Bilbo noticed a large boulder jutting into the lake which suited his purposes. A giant willow tree shaded the boulder from the already-fierce sun. He and Frodo left their backpacks under the shade of a stand of hoary oak trees where they decided to camp for the evening. Bilbo carefully assembled his new fishing gear and leaded down to the lakeside boulder. After tying one of the new lures to the twine and arranging his bedroll against the trunk of the willow tree as his pillow, he settled in for a quiet day of fishing.  
  
Frodo was free to explore the intriguing bits of stone he had noticed on their way down. There were subtle patterns in the layout of the land which might have been overlooked by a less-observant person. But Frodo had always paid attention to the details of things; trying to not only figure out what something was, but how it worked and why it worked the way it did. When he and his Brandybuck cousins used to sneak into the Old Forest, Frodo was always the first to spot the wildlife against the tangled confusion of tree limbs, hanging moss and gnarled roots. He wasn't terribly good at hunting, but he was an excellent tracker and navigator. And Frodo had also paid attention to Mister Gamgee and the workings of the Bag End gardens. He knew how plants were supposed to look during all seasons.  
  
What might have appeared to the average hobbit as a tangled web of wild roses and spent springtime greenery indicated to his trained eyes the outline of a missing house. The cluster of tumbled field stones in one corner might have been a chimney. Stalks of now-withering daffodilly and narcissus leaves in too-straight a line to be the work of nature. A stand of overgrown bay laurel bushes located too close to a patch of sage run wild. The lack of tall trees in one area of the grounds. It was the outlines of somebody's cottage, though the actual beams and thatched roof which must have once stood there had long ago gone back to the earth.  
  
Frodo pulled out his sketch pad and went to work, noting down what he observed and how each item was related to the next. If he saw a curiously shaped stone which didn't look quite natural, he sketched that too. He followed one slight clue to the next, always heading towards the western end of the lake, and making sure he could see Bilbo at all times. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to ruin his Uncle's quiet fishing.  
  
Upon reaching a little cold spring bubbling down from a weed-filled track, he turned aside. Something was unusual about the stream. Instead of finding the normal slime, cattails and overgrown algae, he found trumpet vines, honeysuckle and coppery-colored ferns lining the small trickle of water. Tiny jeweled hummingbirds and brightly colored butterflies were busy at work amongst the flowers. Frodo followed the stream up to its source in the shadow of an overhanging slab of grey rock. The little brook cascaded in a thin waterfall across the center of the rock slab; mosses and ferns clinging to the rock face and even hanging over into the waterfall itself. Beneath the slab and behind the waterfall was a shallow cave tall enough for someone of considerable height to stand upright. Frodo gently pushed aside the ferns and peered inside.  
  
The afternoon sun pierced the darkness and illumined a stunning spectacle. In the back of the grotto, beneath a layer of thick moss, stood a statue. It was a woman carved into the rock wall itself, holding something aloft in her upraised cupped hands. Water dripped and echoed inside the dank grotto and spider webs sparkled in the spray. Frodo stepped back from the waterfall and into the sunshine. He ran to get Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo already had their supper dangling off a line into a little backwater pool behind the willow tree. He could see Frodo running towards him, but relaxed when the younger hobbit slowed down to a less-alarming walk.  
  
"You must have found something quite interesting, as you've missed lunch," the elder hobbit teased. "But not to worry. At least I've made this trip worthwhile." He pulled up the line, showing off a pair of the largest and most colorful trout Frodo had ever seen. Their scales appeared to be made up of all the colors of the rainbow; first sparkling silver, and now gold or fiery red or even deep greens and blues.  
  
Frodo smiled and his stomach suddenly growled in appreciation of the anticipated feast. Bilbo heard it and laughed. "And what, my boy, have you discovered?"  
  
"You will have to come see it before we loose the light," Frodo said. Bilbo returned the fish to their little pool and followed Frodo to the hidden grotto. The sun was still in position to reveal the secret bas relief as Frodo pulled back the fern cover. Bilbo was stunned.  
  
"Well, well, well, my boy," Bilbo said, "you've done it. Definite proof that someone once lived here, that's for sure. Hold those ferns back while I take a closer look." Bilbo approached the statue, his toes squishing through the sodden moss.  
  
"Careful, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo almost whispered. "There are spiders back there." He pulled a fern back some more to allow as much light as he could inside. "I wonder who she was?"  
  
Bilbo was almost touching the statue. "What her name is may be a mystery forever, but one thing is clear," he said. "She was an Elf. See? The pointed ears?"  
  
"What is she holding?" Frodo asked.  
  
"It's difficult to tell, with all this covering of moss and ferns," Bilbo said, "and I don't want to destroy them in order to get to the rock itself. So let's leave it hidden. Whatever it is, this is definitely Elvish work. Very graceful and elongated, with long wavy hair." Bilbo backed out of the grotto. "Excellent work, Frodo! But now the lost city of Annuminas is more of a mystery than ever."  
  
"I think mysteries can wait for awhile, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo said. "At least until after dinner. I'm famished!"  
  
Multi-colored trout in fresh wild herbs gathered by Frodo and pan fried over their modest campfire by the lake finally satisfied their hunger. The two settled down to smoke a pipe and watch the stars come out in the clear, still twilight. Even though there was no moon, enough starlight flooded the sky to make walking about safe and secure. Bilbo and Frodo moved up onto a high wedge of rock in order to get a better view of the water as twilight faded into night. They were not disappointed.  
  
Stars glinted a bright reflection in the deep, still waters. There was an illusion that they were not looking at the lake's surface, but down into a hole through the earth and were seeing stars on the other side. Or perhaps they were looking into an enchanted mirror reflecting the way the Middle Earth was long before Moon and Sun arrived.  
  
"Uncle Bilbo," Frodo whispered into the stillness, "no wonder this lake is called Evendim. I don't think it's referring to the best time to view the lake at all. I think it's referring back to a time before the First Age. Back in the Twilight of the Eldar, when they lived here under starlight."  
  
"Look, Frodo," Bilbo whispered back, clutching the ring in his right hand. "What do you see in the waters?"  
  
Frodo stared into the lake. "Stars. Just the stars. Why?"  
  
Bilbo passed the ring over to Frodo. "Let it rest in the palm of your hand. Relax your gaze and let your imagination wander," Bilbo quietly instructed, placing his own hand over Frodo's open palm and over the ring.  
  
Frodo took a deep, long breath and slowly let it out, trying to not think of anything. In a moment he realized the waters showed more than just the stars. "I . I think I see a . a boat? Is there a boat sunk in the lake? Wait. It's larger than a boat. It's a ship! How could a ship that large get into an inland lake?"  
  
"It's a ship from the past. A Numenorian tall ship with its great timbers and sails." Bilbo was transfixed. "All intermixed with the eternal stars. I think what we are seeing is not sunk into the lake at all. There is something very Elvish and otherworldly about this place."  
  
As they watched, the stars intensified and the ghost ship faded. Frodo tore his gaze away from the lake and looked up into the heavens themselves. The evening star was rising high into the sky. When he turned his attention back to the enchanted waters, the reflection did not quite match what he had just glimpsed in the sky.  
  
"Bilbo," Frodo whispered in awe, "it's a different boat now."  
  
"Describe what you see, Frodo," Bilbo instructed, closing his eyes.  
  
"It's a shimmery grey boat. Not as tall or as mighty as the last one. And this one has a swan carved into the figurehead, and a white swan emblazoned into a silver mainsail. It's so bright!" Frodo's eyes were dazzled by the sight.  
  
"You're seeing Elendil's vessel as it travels the heavens," Bilbo replied. He took the ring from Frodo's hand and returned it to his coat pocket. "Seems the lake reflects legend as well as real starlight."  
  
The evening's stargazing came to an end as a mist began to creep over the surface of the waters. The ghost ships disappeared first, then the stars. Frodo and Bilbo returned to their campfire before all starlight faded into the growing mists.  
  
"Was that real, or did we imagine it?" Frodo quietly asked as he settled into his bedroll.  
  
"Both," Bilbo replied as he banked the campfire for the night.  
  
"Could we try it again in the morning, Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked. "Use your magic ring again to see the ships?"  
  
"I don't think so, Frodo," Bilbo mused. "Gandalf once told me that magic rings are not to be trusted. I thought he was saying that just so that I wouldn't be tempted to disappear too often and cause a ruckus. But now I'm not so sure that he's not right. I don't know why, but I don't trust the ring any more. I think it best if we let it be and return home tomorrow." Bilbo arranged the bedroll and climbed in. "Good night, Frodo."  
  
"Good night, Uncle Bilbo." 


	10. Home

Chapter 10: Home  
  
Their return back through the southern branch of the Emyn Uial was uneventful, but rather uncomfortable. Since their rations were running low and Bilbo couldn't tell how long they would have to be away from civilization, he cut back on their food so that they only ate 2 meals a day. And that mostly consisted of dried fruits and stale bread. This was quite a hardship for Frodo. The still-growing lad was used to the normal six-a-day in the Shire.  
  
The wind was at their backs, blowing steadily from the far away frozen north. Frodo felt the bitter cold even at mid-summer, and ended up putting on every ounce of clothing he had brought. Following safe paths marked by the Dunedain allowed them to come through the hills without incident, save for one disturbing reminder. At one fork in the road they ran across another of the markings with an X under the star. They could see a pit down the trail, its sides caved in a long time ago. With much caution, they investigated the pit, only to find the skeletal remains of a large elk trapped within. Frodo swallowed hard; relieved that it was not his remains which were trapped there for all time.  
  
They descended into the gently rolling high pastures and grasslands close by the borders of the North Farthing not far from where they had traveled before. Along the way they spied a lone shepherd and his two black-and- white sheepdogs moving a flock. They paused in their hiking to watch the graceful work of hobbit and beasts.  
  
The shepherd was moving a rather large number of sheep into the lush summer highlands. Control of the flock was maintained by the shepherd, the use of his staff, and the two dogs. The low-slung dogs were sent to move, turn and stop the flock through a series of different whistles. One set of whistles controlled the movements of the mostly black dog, while another, slightly different-pitched set of whistles controlled the white-and-black speckled dog. The three worked in harmony to move the sheep past a dangerous bog and into greener pastures beyond. It was a graceful dance repeated year after year and generation after generation.  
  
Frodo and Bilbo made camp out in the open fields that night, since there were no huts to be seen. Frodo thought they had come down a bit more easterly than when they exited the Shire. Bilbo thought they must be inside the Shire borders, but no markers were seen. The only indications were more pasture lands and fewer stands of dark woodlands.  
  
The next day brought warmer weather and the gradual appearance of fenced paddocks and orchards. They were definitely in the Shire now. They eventually reached the old North Dwarf road and ended up spending the night in Oatbarton at the Inn. again Bilbo and Frodo relaxed with a home-cooked meal and warm bath, then retired to the pub for a beer. Bilbo was not in the mood to entertain the crowd this evening, so they settled into a back booth and quietly observed the room.  
  
"You know, Uncle Bilbo, those Dunedain are like that shepherd we saw the other day," Frodo said as he sipped his brew.  
  
"And how's that?" Bilbo asked.  
  
"Well, sheep don't realize that the shepherd and his dogs are actually protecting them," Frodo quietly said. A group of locals at the bar burst into laughter at a private joke. "It's like that with the Dunedain protecting the Shire. I never knew they were out there in the Wild, patrolling our borders. I don't think anybody in the Shire realizes it either. We take for granted that our homeland is safe and organized and free from danger, just like the sheep take for granted their safe pasture. They don't know about all the work the shepherd does for them."  
  
"I can see your point," Bilbo nodded and began to finger the ring in his pocket. "And now that you've had your adventure, what do you think?"  
  
Frodo thought about it before replying. "I never realized how dangerous places outside the Shire are. I must admit that I was quite relieved to see the first farm house yesterday. I think I took for granted how good life is here in the Shire. I had never been that hungry or that cold before."  
  
Bilbo chuckled to himself slightly. Frodo had done a lot of growing up on this trip.  
  
The bar was filled with farm hands and country lasses drinking and flirting with each other in a never-ending dance of courting and mating. The warmth of the close friendships and family units in the little community on the edge of the Shire brought home how truly wonderful it was to live a quiet, content life in safety and peace.  
  
"We come back out of the Wild and I see orchards and well-tended vegetable gardens and pasture lands full of sheep and cattle," Frodo continued. "We hobbits think it nothing to walk in safety throughout the Shire without being armed or having to worry about the paths we tread or where our next meal will come from. Even the poorest hobbit in the meanest hole lives much better than those poor Dunedain."  
  
"Are you sorry you went on this adventure?" Bilbo asked.  
  
"Oh, don't get me wrong, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo said. "I loved going on this journey with you! We found the pass through the Emyn Uial and I updated your map. We discovered that the lake was enchanted. Met up with real Numenorians. I mean, Dunedain, along the way who proved to be friends. We even found ancient Elvish ruins. But." Frodo cupped his mug with both hands.  
  
"But." Bilbo prompted.  
  
"But living out in the Wild is a lot harder than I ever imagined," Frodo said as he gazed into his beer.  
  
Bilbo smiled and quietly nodded.  
  
"I'm glad to be back in the Shire." Frodo looked up. "Back home. When we reach Bag End, it will be all the more sweet for going away. Thank you for taking me on my own adventure, Uncle Bilbo. But thank you even more for taking me to live with you. You are my family, and I will always treasure coming home no matter how far I may travel."  
  
A lump suddenly appeared in Bilbo's throat. He took a deep breath, put away the ring, reached across the table and patted Frodo's hand. "When we arrive at Bag End I'm going to do a little business in Hobbiton. I realize I've never formally signed the papers making you my heir. Of course, it won't become fully legal until your coming of age when you turn thirty- three. But I want to ensure everything's properly done and those blasted Sackville-Bagginses won't try to cheat you out of your inheritance."  
  
Frodo started to protest but Bilbo quickly shushed him. "My boy, I've always known you were the brightest of all my relations, but I never realized how happy and proud you could make an old bachelor like me." He took Frodo's hands in his. "You are my joy. Never forget that, Frodo."  
  
"I won't, Uncle Bilbo." Frodo smiled. They raised a silent toast to each other and drained their mugs.  
  
--------------  
  
They arrived at Bag End late the next evening. Hamfast was pulling the front door closed and about to blow out the entrance lantern when Bilbo and Frodo rounded the corner of Bag Shot Row. Sam was carrying Bilbo's backpack, jabbering excitedly with Frodo.  
  
"Hold on Hamfast!" Bilbo called out.  
  
"Why, Mister Bilbo! You're back early I see." Hamfast reopened the door and quickly went inside to relight come candles in the entranceway. "Hope everything went well, sir."  
  
"In deed," Bilbo smiled. "Samwise, why don't you put my things down in the hallway and help Frodo unpack. Your father and I can relax and have a beer or two. Oh, and Hamfast? Could Samwise spend the night here at Bag End? I'm sure Frodo is fair bursting to be with someone closer to his own age than an old codger like me."  
  
"Could I, Da???" Sam pleaded.  
  
Hamfast looked hard at Bilbo and shook his head slightly. A little grin appeared in the corner of his mouth. "All right, but be home for lunch tomorrow."  
  
Sam whooped in glee. Bilbo removed his sword and cloak and dumped them on a pile in the hallway. Sam and Frodo disappeared down a hallway chattering excitedly about Elves and stern hooded Men and haunted lakes.  
  
"Tis good ta have ya back home, sir." Hamfast broke into a full-fledged smile.  
  
"It's good to be home," Bilbo said. The two old friends retrieved a couple of mugs of beer from the cellar and took them out into the cool of the night garden. They could hear the boys laughing through the open windows of the smial.  
  
"I think Frodo's had enough adventure to hold him for quite a few years," Bilbo chuckled. They sat down in the old wicker chairs beside the herb garden's sundial and outdoor table.  
  
"What about you, Mister Bilbo?" Hamfast asked as he took a long drink. "You've been mighty close and anxious about something lately. I was just as afraid as young Master Frodo the other day when we both thought you had gone off with them dwarves."  
  
Bilbo leaned back fully in the garden chair. A sliver of the new crescent moon was rising over the Hill. Crickets chirped in the fragrant evening air. Another burst of laughter could be heard coming from Frodo's room. Bilbo put his feet up on a little garden stool and took a long sip from his brew.  
  
"No, my friend. I've put my adventuring days behind me for the time being," Bilbo said. "We're all really quite blessed here, you know? The Shire doesn't have the troubles of the rest of Middle Earth. We're sheltered and protected from the great Shadow that lies on other's lands. Complaining of things which are really only petty annoyances compared to what other folk have to endure. And most of the time we don't even know how well off we are."  
  
"You're right on that point, Mister Bilbo," Hamfast said. "Look at me. I got the best wife in the world and a bushel full of happy and healthy children. Can't complain none about things at all. Things is right and good and true here in the Shire, and I'm awful glad to not get mixed up in anyone else's troubles."  
  
"I never really knew the pleasures and the heartbreaks of children until young Frodo came to stay with me," Bilbo quietly said. "I know what you mean in that you are blessed with home and family. I've seen some of the evil in the world whilst on my travels. Horrible creatures and terrible war. But I can tell you one thing. Even if the Shadow comes again into the world, and even if that great evil comes to the Shire, there is still hope and beauty and love beyond it's reach."  
  
"Aye, that's true," Hamfast agreed. "Ya can see it in the stars and in the heavens; feel it in the good earth and rain; and hear it in our children's voices. And no matter how far ya roams, even if ya ain't in the Shire no more, the Shire will always be in yer heart." 


End file.
